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"And their cause is the cause of the whole world!” 



WHITE FIRE 


BY 

MARY CONSTANCE DU BOIS 

»» 

Author of “Elinor Arden, Royalist,’’ “The Lass of the Silver 
Sword,” “Girls of Old Glory,” etc. 


ILLUSTRATED BY 

C. M. RELYEA 





the CENTURY CO. 

New York and London 
1923 










Copyright, 1923, by 
The Century Co. 


# ■» 

• r 


C1A711776 

« \ , 


$ /■ 7 

PRINTED IN U. S. A. 


SEP-7’23 





$ 

£ 


To 

CYNTHIA OF THE EAST 
AND 

NANCY OF THE WEST 


CONTENTS 


chapter PA0b 

I Trapped and Kidnapped.3 

II Who’s Afraid?.26 

III The Call of the Drum.50 

IV Vengeance Steals Through the Dark ... 67 

V Dick is Called to Account.84 

VI The Governor Speaks His Mind.104 

VII Buried Treasure.120 

VIII A Dangerous Visitor.133 

IX A Mysterious Errand.150 

X Fugitives.171 

XI An English Gentleman Keeps His Word . . . 184 

XII Brigands and Moonbeams. 205 

XIII The Count and the Donkey Cavalcade . . . 223 

XIV The Gray Wolf.249 

XV A Strange Welcome Home.269 

XVI A Princess and a Parting.290 

XVII Back to the Frozen North.302 

XVIII Two Volcanoes.325 

XIX Her Majesty Takes a Drive.343 

XX Nancy in Ambush.365 

















CONTENTS 


CHAPTER PAGE 

XXI Why Not? . .*.•■*•* . > . . . . 384 

k i 

XXII The Cat, the Mouse, and the Wolf v . y . 402 

XXIII The Prize . . * * . ^ ^ . y , 415 

XXIV Haste! Haste! Post-Haste! * > y y > 432 

XXV The Dancing Nancy Comes to Anchor .... 452 



LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS 

‘And their cause is the cause of the whole world!” . Frontispiece 


FACING 

PAGH 

“Mercy sakes, Dick! Whatever—”.. . 86 

“You are not afraid, Mademoiselle V’ .218 

“You are not the game we were seeking!” . . . . . . 254 







V 




WHITE FIRE 





WHITE FIRE 

CHAPTER I 

i 

TRAPPED AND KIDNAPPED 

<<rTlHE red fox is trapped at last! Ha, you lit- 
JL tie thief, I’ve caught you! Easy! Easy, 
now! No use fighting. Better give in prettily. 
You little vixen, would you bite my fingers'!” 

Any stranger, arriving on the brow of Pirates’ 
Bock that bright June morning hour, in 1772 , would 
have wondered why a fox should have left its safe 
covert in the forest and sought a lair on the strand 
laved by the lapping waters of Narragansett Bay. 
But the big fellow of sixteen, with head and shoul¬ 
ders thrust inside the fox’s strangely chosen den, 
was clearly at grips with some creature that refused 
to submit to its captor. 

The tussle went on, but oddly enough, the sounds 
made by the wild thing brought to bay resembled 
giggling rather than growling. Any one peeping 
through the fissure that cleft the top of Pirates’ 
Cave would have had a glimpse, not of tawny fox 
fur, but of red-gold curls tumbling from under a 
white dimity cap very much awry. 

“ Hallo, here’s something!” Dick Monteith drew 

his head and shoulders out of the den, to examine 

3 



4 


WHITE FIRE 


the booty wrested from the thief. A small green 
silk work-bag stuffed full of—what? He found 
neither thimble nor spools, nor yet the prize 
he sought, but lumps of sugar, chipped from a 
pantry sugar-loaf. 

Bright eyes were watching him now. The fox 
had curled herself up in the doorway of her den, 
to enjoy the inspection of the work-bag. Against 
the dark background of rock appeared a delicate 
elfish face, set in a ruddy gold frame of curls and 
flushed beyond its usual sea-shell tint, from the 
laughing battle in the cave. A broad white fore¬ 
head, a finely chiseled nose, an irresistible mouth, 
mirthful and mirth-provoking and dimpled at' the 
comers, a pretty, piquant chin: where had the 
owner of these items hidden Dick’s lost property? 
Nancy Monteith was watching her captor with very 
much the air of a sly and mischievous fox. 

The disappointed victor in the tussle turned the 
work-bag inside out. Nothing there but sugar! 
What had that light-fingered bit of roguishness 
done with the stolen treasure? She seemed to 
hold the secret in those shadowy, shining eyes of 
hers, eyes whose depths no one could fathom: they 
were too full of mysteries. And then she chuckled 
her own tormenting chuckle that nobody could imi¬ 
tate, that delicious, musical gurgle of joy, like the 
laughter of a fun-loving brook, hearing which you 
had to smile in sympathy, whether you were the 
dignified Colonel James Stuart Monteith, trying to 
keep a straight face while you rebuked Daughter 


TRAPPED AND KIDNAPPED 


5 


Nancy, or the illustrious Governor Wanton of New¬ 
port, the colonel’s friend and Nancy’s firm ally. 
There was only one person who was proof against 
her chuckle, and this was Dick, who had heard it 
too many times under irritating circumstances. 

Coolly Dick stuffed the work-bag into his pocket. 
“Very well, then, we ’ll have to search you.” 

Nancy was about to retreat into her den, but 
he was too quick for her, recapturing her, this time 
by her bunch of curls. 

‘ ‘ Here’s a fine red fox-pelt to sell to the traders! 
Let’s have it off with the scalping-knife and see 
what’s under it?” 

He whipped out his knife and, pinioning her with 
one arm, made playful passes around her head, to 
the accompaniment of little squeals of protest. 
Then he pulled off her cap to see if anything was 
hidden beneath it. Down came the unruly curls, 
tumbling riotously over her white kerchief, but no 
buried treasure was revealed. 

“Did you find any moonlight glories in my 
hair ? ’ ’ 

“No, found carrots!” Dick retorted; yet so taken 
aback was he at the mention of “moonlight glories” 
that he forgot to hold her pinioned. TJp flew one 
little hand that looked so soft and caressing and in¬ 
flicted a stinging box on his ear. 

“That ’s for calling my hair ‘carrots’!” 

Dick took a grip of both of her wrists. “See 
here, if you know what’s good for you, you ’ll hand 
that over.” 


6 


WHITE FIRE 


Nancy turned toward him a face of cherubic in¬ 
nocence. “Hand what over, Dick?” 

“What you ’re hiding. Hand it over, I say.” 

“What I’m hiding?” she repeated wonderingly. 

“You know well enough: what you stole out of 
my room. ’’ 

“Why, Dick! You don’t mean to say you lost 
the prize you won at the shooting-match? That 
beautiful crimson rosette, with the Cupid’s arrow 
through it, that ‘Sweet Cynthia, namesake of the 
moon, with moonlight glories in her hair,’ pinned 
on your coat?” 

“Jupiter! What nonsense are you talking?” 

“I’m not talking, nonsense,” she cooed. “I’m 
talking poetry. Dick, why is she the namesake of 
the moon?” 

“Infant, do you know what we do to naughty, 
thieving foxes, when we catch them? Well, I ’ll 
show you, if you don’t hand that over. ’ ’ 

“How can I hand it over when you ’re holding 
both my wrists?” 

Dick released one arm. “Quick, now, give it up, 
or—” 

“How can I give it up,” she argued, “when I 
haven’t it to give? Honestly and truly, Dick, I 
haven’t your rosette.” 

“You had it when I saw you on the fence.” 

“Oh, yes, then! I was going to tie it on Bonny 
Prince Charlie’s ear. It would have been so be¬ 
coming to him! Only I didn’t have time.” 

“Where is it now, then?” 


TRAPPED AND KIDNAPPED 


7 


“Find it if yon can,” she teased. 

“I ’ll make you find it. Come along!” 

Nancy knew that in a trial of her strength against 
Dick’s she was helpless. When these contests oc¬ 
curred she always fought gamely to the last, but 
what could she do against his muscles of steel and 
his iron grip? Laughing, snapping, and fighting 
like the fox that he had called her, she was dragged 
from her den, contesting every inch of the way. 
He drew her down from the rocks to the soft sand 
below. 

“You terrible great rough boy, let go of me! 
You ’re hurting my poor little arms, dreadfully !” 

He released her at once. She made a spring at 
him, and violently tweaked the jet-black lock over¬ 
hanging his brow. 

“I’d rather have red hair,” she declared, “than 
look as if I’d been dipped in an ink-bottle, like 
youI" 

Suddenly she collapsed upon the sand. She sank 
down on her, knees, extending her arms skyward, 
and implored dramatically: 

“ Sweet Cynthia, namesake of the moon, 

With moonlight glories in thy hair, 

Turn not away from me so soon! 

Oh, leave me not in dark despair!” 

The expression on Dick’s face, as he heard this 
recitation, was all the recompense that Nancy 
needed for being dragged from her den. His 
newly won prize for marksmanship, that crimson 


8 


WHITE FIRE 


rosette thrust through with a silver arrow, had been 
rendered sacred in his eyes, for it had been pinned 
on his breast by the hands of Miss Cynthia Hazard, 
chosen “Queen of Love and Beauty,’’ the belle of 
the summer colony at Boston Neck. Miss Cynthia 
was Dick’s senior by several years. For a number 
of seasons all the gallant youths of Rhode Island 
had worshiped at her shrine; and since she had 
placed that decoration over the region of his heart, 
the boy, who had hitherto cared for nothing but 
hunting and horses, fishing and boating, had been 
“moonstruck,” as Colonel Monteith described it. 
As a symptom he had secretly broken out in verse, 
only to discover this morning that the red rosette, 
and apparently the paper, too, on which his 
thoughts of Sweet Cynthia had found expression, 
had been filched from his room by the impious fin¬ 
gers of Saucy Nan. How had he found out the 
theft? • 

While riding Black Thunderbolt bareback around 
the turf course where the colonel’s famous Nar- 
ragansett pacers were turned loose for exer¬ 
cise, Dick had spied Nancy perched on the fence, 
waving a rosette aloft, while she coaxed Bonny 
Prince Charlie to come for a lump of sugar. Be¬ 
fore he could leap from his mount to the rescue of 
his property, Black Thunderbolt, an unbroken three- 
year-old, had reared and plunged; and the reck¬ 
less young rider, who stuck like a bur and refused 
to be thrown, had had a desperate struggle to make 
the colt own him master. When at last he could 


TKAPPED AND KIDNAPPED 


9 


go after the rosette thief, Nancy had vanished, and 
the hnnt that followed had ended in the trapping of 
the little red fox in the cave by the shore. 

‘ 4 Nancy”—towering over the kneeling maiden, 
Dick spoke with cold severity,—“do yon know that 
it is very dishonorable to sneak into a person’s 
room and read his letters, or—er—” 

‘ ‘ Poems ?’ ’ she supplied the word. 

“About his private affairs. No gentleman would 
do such a thing.” 

“But I’m a lady,” she corrected. 

“Nor a lady, either. But you—you ’re a little 
wildcat of a savage!” 

“I was a fox just now,” she reminded him. “If 
I’m a savage, too, I can’t help it, can I? Being 
brought up with you! It’s so easy to copy!” 

“Well, once for all, remember this,” he sternly 
commanded. “To pry into other people’s letters 
and things is shamefully dishonorable .” 

“Miau! Woof! I’m only a poor little wildcat 
fox!” she protested. “7 don’t know what’s dis¬ 
honorable. I only know what’s fun. It’s fun to 
see you angry, Dick, real towering, blazing angry! 
Then you look just like an Indian chief going to 
throw the tomahawk,” 

“I ’ll throw you into the bay,” he threatened, “if 
you don’t give up that paper you stole.” 

“Maybe I can’t give it up. Maybe I’ve sent it 
to Sweet Cynthia already!” 

“Or maybe you have it with you now. Give it 
up, I say.” 




10 


WHITE FIRE 


“Oh, Dick, I can’t yet! I’ve only had time 
to learn one verse. I have to learn the rest. 
There are two verses, and a piece of a third. How 
does that second one go? There’s something 
about goddesses. Ah, Dick, do make haste and 
finish that poem, so I can recite it to Phyllis 
Templeton. I want so much to make friends with 
her. Now I know the way! I ’ll steal under her 
window and sing, ‘Swee-ee-eet Cynthia—’ ” 

The warble ended in a squeal. Dick had pounced 
on her, and once again she found herself helpless 
in his steel-like grasp. 

“You ’ll not see Phyllis Templeton, nor your 
home either, till you learn to behave,” he informed 
her. And then it was that Nancy’s love of finery 
proved her undoing. 

She had draped over her flowered chintz frock a 
magnificent scarf of sea-green silk, discovered one 
day in a treasure-chest in the attic. Dick now used 
the long, broad scarf to bind his shrieking victim. 
He wound her up in it, pinioning her arms to her 
side. Next his fishing-tackle, whipped from his 
pocket, served to fetter her ankles. Then, ruth¬ 
lessly, he tore the ribbon from her cap, but paused 
with it in his hand. 

“Will you be good, now?” he demanded. 

“No! ‘Swee-ee-eet Cynth—’ ” 

Down came the cap-ribbon across her mouth, and 
in a trice Nancy, weak from laughter, was muzzled 
as well as bound and fettered. 


TRAPPED AND KIDNAPPED 11 

“All aboard for Skull-and-Cross-Bones Point! 
There yon 11 stay till you learn to behave.” 

Having made a convenient bundle of her, the 
buccaneer hoisted her in his arms and ran with her 
along the beach to a stone pier. Attached to it a 
jaunty little sail-boat was rocking in the light 
waves. A solitary figure was lolling on the pier. 
This was Pompey, a son of Africa, stolen from his 
home in the wilds of the Dark Continent, trans¬ 
ported in early childhood to the New England coast, 
and bought, out of compassion, by Colonel Monteith. 
In those colonial days, Rhode Islanders, like the 
Southern cavaliers, had slaves. 

1 ‘ Ahoy, there, you lazy lubber! Wake up!” 

Thus hailed, “Marse Dick’s Black Shadow,” as 
the boy had been nicknamed for his devotion, awoke 
from his day-dreaming, and, scrambling to his feet, 
stared, amazed, at the plight of the helpless maiden 
in his young master’s arms. 

“Ain’t nothin’ happened to li’l Missy? She 
ain’t hurt, is she?” 

“Little Missy’s not hurt; she’s only being kid¬ 
napped. Lively now, Pomp! All aboard for Skull- 
and-Cross-Bones ! ’ ’ 

Reassured and grinning, Pompey bestirred him¬ 
self, like the able seaman that he was, hauling the 
boat alongside the dock, and steadying her while 
Dick lowered himself into the cockpit and laid his 
burden down on the cushioned seat in the stern. 
The animated mummy had ceased struggling. She 


12 


WHITE FIRE 


lay on the cushions, startlingly quiet; but Pompey, 
dropping into the cockpit in his turn, heard a faint 
moan. He looked anxiously from Little Missy, 
bound and prostrate, to Marse Dick, coolly uncon¬ 
cerned. 

“All hands, ahoy! Up anchor!” sang out the 
young captain of the Saucebox, named in Nancy ’s 
honor. 

He hoisted sail, while Pompey cast off. Then 
he took the tiller, and with the fresh morning 
breeze to favor her the light shallop glided away 
from the pier, heading northward for the spit of 
land where Dick and his Black Shadow had played 
pirate and vainly dug for buried treasure in 
earlier days. 

Once clear of the shore Dick ordered Pompey to 
man the helm, and turned to see how his prisoner 
fared and to loosen her bonds. Her moans sud¬ 
denly became heart-rending. 

“Marse Dick,” the helmsman protested, “you 
sholy done hurt lid Missy, without meanm’ to, 
tyin’ down her pore little arms and tyffP up her 
mouf. Li’l Missy ain’t nothin’ but a lid, 
soft, white kitten; can’t stand no rough handlin’, 
even in play. Marse Dick dunno how strong he 
am.” 

“She’s a kitten with claws. She knows how to 
take care of herself,” remarked Dick, impenitently. 
But as he bent over the moaning captive, her great 
shadowy eyes looked up at him with reproach that 
should have pierced his heart, and that did cause 


TRAPPED AND KIDNAPPED 


13 


him to ask, as he unbound her, “I did n’t really hurt 
you, did I, Nan?” 

“Oh, terr-rr-ribly!” But as he turned away to 
man the tiller once more, a piteous wail recalled 
him. “Dick! Dick! ‘Turn not away from me so 
soon!’ Come back and tell me why you ’re tak¬ 
ing poor little innocent me to Skull-and-Cross- 
Bones Point!” 

“Because they need a beacon there to prevent 
shipwrecks. Your fiery hair is just the thing.” 

“How long do I have to be a beacon?” 

“Till you give in and behave.” 

“And if I don't behave?” 

“Then there you ’ll stay.” 

“Forever? Dick! ‘Oh, leave me not in dark 
despair!’ ” 

“I ’ll leave you with a plug in your mouth.’’ 

The harassed poet selected the largest lump of 
sugar in the work-bag, and forced it between that 
provoking pair of rosy lips. Then, tossing aside 
his coat, he resumed command of the helm, ignor¬ 
ing the victim doomed to a lonely sojourn at Skull- 
and-Cross-Bones Point, and leaving her to suck 
sugar and think over her sins. 

Nancy was perfectly comfortable lying there on 
the boat-cushions, enjoying the gentle rocking on 
the heaving bosom of the bay, as the Saucebox 
skimmed lightly on her course. Pompey, it seemed, 
was less serene in mind than the kidnapped maiden 
sailing toward her dismal fate. She heard him 
voicing his uneasiness: 



14 


WHITE FIRE 


“Marse Dick, don’t you tink Skull-an’-Cross- 
Bones am kinder far to take li’l Missy? I jes’ 
knows dat scoundrelly ole gunboat Gaspee am 
cruisin’ roun’ here dis mornin’, an’ ef she sees us 
she gwine play de mischief! I tell you, Marse Dick, 
dis ain’ no day to go sailin’ up dat way. We gwine 
have bad luck. How I knows dat? Why, I done 
lose my rabbit’s foot, cut off in de dark o’ de moon! 
Yassah, Marse Dick, I done lose my rabbit’s foot , 
dis mornin’! Can’t find her nowhar. Dat gwine 
bring de Gaspee down on us, for sartin.” 

The Gaspee was Pompey’s bogy; but, for that 
matter, the Gaspee was the bane of every sailor and 
ship-owner and merchant in the colony. The inde¬ 
pendent Rhode Islanders, smarting at the injustice 
of the tyrannical restrictions that crippled their 
trade, had been coolly defying the revenue laws, 
and a lively but illicit traffic had been going on, 
those doughty New England seamen snapping their 
fingers at the king’s regulations and merrily smug¬ 
gling goods into port. But in March of that year, 
memorable in Rhode Island, 1772, there had sailed 
into Narragansett Bay his Majesty’s sloop of war, 
the Beaver, and the armed schooner Gaspee, with 
orders to put a stop to this lawless trading. Then 
it was that Lieutenant William Dudingston, com¬ 
mander of the Gaspee, caused his name to be hated 
along the entire coast. From the time of his ar¬ 
rival, no vessel, not even the most innocent little 
market-boat, could put into a Rhode Island port or 
slip out of it without the prospect of having the 


TRAPPED AND KIDNAPPED 


15 


Gaspee , with eight guns ready to pump lead into 
her if she proved rebellious, bear down upon her 
and hold her up, while Lieutenant Dudingston 
boarded and searched her ruthlessly. But this 
was not the worst of it. Many a wrathful skipper 
had to look on, helpless, while his cargo was seized, 
quite illegally, by this autocratic representative of 
King George’s navy, and sent off to Boston for the 
trial of the case, though contrary to the act of 
Parliament. 

Those were the days indeed to make a man grind 
his teeth and clench his fist and long for vengeance 
on William Dudingston; and it was common enough 
to see a vessel in flight up Narragansett Bay with 
the Gaspee in hot pursuit. Small wonder, then, 
that Pompey, having lost that sure protection, his 
rabbit’s foot, scanned the horizon anxiously as 
they headed for Skull-and-Cross-Bones Point. 

“Yassah, Marse Dick,” he repeated gloomily, “de 
loss o’ dat rabbit’s foot am sholy gwine to bring 
de Gaspee down on us!” 

“And that will be right good sport, eh, Pompey? 
We ’ll lead her a lively chase.” 

Pompey shook his wise and woolly head. ‘ ‘ Good 
sport for de Gaspee , but mighty bad sport for de 
pore li’l Saucebox , when,— herplung \—a cannon¬ 
ball busts her sides in! Marse Dick, nobody can’t 
fool me. I tell you dat rapscalliun Dudingston am 
rampagin’ like a sea-lion to-day, an’ if we keep on 
sailin’ north he gwine board us an’ ’rest us an’ 
carry us off to Boston! I feels it in my bones.” 



16 


WHITE FIRE 


Dick laughed. “Ahoy, there, Nan! Stow that 
cargo of sugar before the Gaspee overhauls us. If 
old Dud catches you with smuggled goods, he ’ll 
hang you from the yard-arm!” 

“I can’t give it up. It’s sweeter than Cynthia.’’ 
Nancy nibbled on placidly till Dick shouted: 

“Sail, ho! The Gaspee ahoy! Here comes old 
Dud now! We ’ll have to crowd on more sail and 
run for it! Foxy, I ’ll drop you overboard to 
lighten the boat.” 

Nancy’s head had popped up suddenly from the 
cushions, but she did not look alarmed. The two- 
masted vessel, heading toward them from Win¬ 
field’s Bay, was no war-schooner bristling with 
guns, but a pleasure-yacht. All three recognized 
her as the Sea Nymph , Governor Wanton’s pinnace, 
and the governor, they knew, had been spending 
Sunday, with its freedom from the cares of state, 
at the home of Colonel Monteith’s old friend, An¬ 
thony Winfield, Esquire. His Excellency as well 
as the colonel had been a guest at Saturday’s house¬ 
warming in honor of Squire Winfield’s bride; for 
the squire had just returned from England, where 
he had married the Widow Templeton, and, what 
was vastly more interesting in Nancy’s eyes, had 
thereby acquired a ready-made son and daughter. 
Not having been invited to the house-warming, 
neither Dick nor Nancy had met Philip and Phyllis 
Templeton; but, to cap the climax of romance, the 
colonel had reported the squire’s stepchildren to 
he twins. Fifteen-year-old twins! 


TRAPPED AND KIDNAPPED 


17 


The sheet of sparkling water between the Sea 
Nymph and the Saucebox grew less and less, as the 
pinnace came dancing over the blue. Nancy waved 
her scarf in welcome. “How gay she is, with her 
flags flying! All dressed for a holiday!” 

Soon they could count the number of persons 
aboard. There were five besides the crew. The 
governor must be one of them, of course; and 
though she could not yet see their faces, Nancy haz¬ 
arded a guess that the four others were Squire 
Winfield, his bride, and the twins, and that his Ex¬ 
cellency was returning last night’s hospitality by 
taking them all home with him across the bay to 
Newport. 

“Dick, if you don’t sail up to them, so I can see 
if those really are the twins, I ’ll never speak to 
you again!” she threatened. 

“Chatterbox, that’s too good to be true!” Dick 
rubbed his ears, to hint that they ached with fatigue, 
and headed away from the pinnace. 

Nancy corrected her blunder. “I mean I ’ll never 
speak to you again if you ’re a good boy and take 
me close up to the Sea Nymph.” 

Promptly the Saucebox came about and carried 
her as near to the governor’s yacht as Captain 
Dick could well venture without risk of a collision. 
Ordering Pompey to man the helm, he prepared to 
make his shallop dip her gay pennant in passing. 
The two boats were soon so close to each other that 
Nancy could prove her guesswork correct. The 
man near the governor was their neighbor, Squire 


18 


WHITE FIRE 


Winfield, and undoubtedly the lady between them 
was his bride. The boy waving his hat in response 
to Nancy’s signal with the scarf, and the girl hold¬ 
ing something in her arms, could be no other than 
his stepchildren, Philip and Phyllis Templeton. It 
was a very lively something that Phyllis was hold¬ 
ing. 

“Look, Dick! Look! It’s a little dog!” 

“My lady’s yapping lap-dog. Wait till our 
Caesar makes a mouthful of him!” 

The Saucebox saluted. The Sea Nymph an¬ 
swered with dipped pennant, courteously. Nancy 
waved to her friend the governor, and he waved 
back to her with the spy-glass, through which he 
had been peering at the shallop. Then, laying 
down his glass, he made a trumpet of his hands and 
shouted a greeting across the water. 

“ Grood morrow, ye pair of sea-rovers! Well met! 
You are come in good time to welcome our guests 
from England. Bid your man at the wheel not to 
ram us amidships, and let me present you formally 
to our new colonists.” 

Dick, standing hatless and coatless, in ruffled 
shirt, with brown arms bared to the elbow, kept his 
pennant dipped politely, while the governor’s sten¬ 
torian voice continued: 

“I have the honor to present the bold buccaneer, 
Dick Monteith, and the queen of the mermaids, who 
sails with him as mate, to their fair new neighbor, 
the mistress of Winfield House—once of London 
Town, now lady of a colonial manor—and to her 



TRAPPED AND KIDNAPPED * 19 

daughter, Miss Phyllis Templeton, the sweetest rose 
ever transplanted from an English garden to our 
wilds. And I have the honor to present to the mer¬ 
maid queen and the bold buccaneer, the brother of 
the rose—Master Philip Templeton, who has come 
to win fame and fortune in the colonies.’’ 

While his Excellency was thundering across the 
strip of water, the sixth member of his party was 
frantically endeavoring to introduce himself. 
Madly excited by the sound of that roaring voice, 
the little spaniel was struggling in the arms of 
Miss Phyllis, while she leaned over the rail, and 
barking almost to the splitting of his throat. 

Much amused, the governor-shouted: “Here is 
one more colonist, who loudly demands recognition: 
Master Carlo Templeton, a canine princeling—” 

The presentation ended abruptly, and young 
Philip Templeton was the cause. He snatched the 
yapping Master Carlo from the arms of his mistress, 
pretending to toss him out over the water to Nancy. 
This was foo much for the outraged dignity of the 
princeling, whose captor, feeling sharp teeth in his 
wrist, in an ill-starred moment, let go his hold. A 
fluffy black and tan object hurtling downward to the 
deep! A splash of water, like the leaping of a 
fountain! A scream from Phyllis that Nancy 
echoed! A small black head bobbing up from the 
waves! Prince Carlo, initiated for the first time in 
his pampered existence to the shock of a cold sea- 
bath, was swimming for dear life away from the 
governor’s yacht. His bereaved mistress assailed 




20 


WHITE FIRE 


her brother with tearful reproaches. The squire’s 
bride soundly chided her son. The governor is¬ 
sued a quick order. A sailor made ready to plunge 
to the rescue, but too late, for some one else was 
ahead of him. 

Nancy, in the Saucebox, felt the boat heave as 
Dick sprang upon the seat beside her. Another 
more violent heave nearly pitched her from her 
place, as he leaped from the rail and dived over¬ 
board. A cheer rose from the yacht, as his head 
reappeared and he struck out for the black dot 
bobbing bravely on the surface. 

The Sea Nymph hove to in haste. Dick cut 
through the water like the amphibious creature 
that life by the sea had made him. The black 
dot came bobbing toward him. The little dog was 
swimming to meet his rescuer. In a flash Dick had 
him fast, and a second cheer rang out from the 
pinnace, as a dripping youth, clinging with one 
arm to the rope ladder that dangled over the ves¬ 
sel ’s side, with the other hoisted a limp and shiver¬ 
ing spaniel up to the sailor leaning over to receive 
the drenched, curly bundle. 

4 4 Hail to thee, young Neptune! That was bravely 
done!” There was a merry laugh in Governor 
Wanton’s voice, as he and his guests applauded 
Prince Carlo’s deliverer. 

Swinging on the rope ladder while he took 
breath, Dick looked up at the group overhead. 
There stood his Excellency, with gold-laced hat and 
powdered wig, a handsome man and courtly, and 


TRAPPED AND KIDNAPPED 


21 


the jovial squire calling down that Daughter Phyllis 
would have pined away of a broken heart had 
Prince Carlo become food for fishes, and the squire’s 
lady—a “comely dame,” Colonel Monteith had 
called her, but just now her charms were hidden 
under a green silk sun-mask. And there beside 
them stood a red-cheeked lad, with frank blue eyes 
and brown curly hair tousled by the breeze, who 
wore a rather sheepish grin, and his counterpart in 
girl’s attire, his twin sister, clasping her shivering 
pet, now folded in her own taffeta mantle, regard¬ 
less of the fact that his silky coat was soaked with 
ocean brine. Phyllis Templeton had snatched off 
her sun-mask, and, flushed and radiant, she looked 
a rose indeed. 

“I thank you,” she called, in her sweet English 
voice. “Oh, I thank you a hundred—a thousand 
times! You’ve saved my darling Carlo’s life!” 

“He’s a brave swimmer,” Dick returned with a 
laugh. Then, not having an idea in his head what 
more to say to “the rose of England,” he was about 
to drop off the ladder and retreat in haste to his 
own boat. 

The governor checked him. “Tarry a moment, 
good Neptune. Tell me, has not your father set sail 
yet for Providence? I thought he was to start early 
this morning in that gallant new sloop of his, and 
you and my fair friend Mistress Nancy with him.” 

“That was the plan, sir,” Dick answered. “But 
the Mermaid is in dry-dock still. Some of her light 
rigging was carried away in that squall last week. 


22 


WHITE FIRE 


The rigger promised to have her back at our pier 
this morning at sunrise. But now the lazy fellow 
sends word she ’ll not be ready till the end of the 
week! ’ ’ 

“That must vex your father sorely,” said Gov¬ 
ernor Wanton. “His business in Providence is ur¬ 
gent, I understand. And ’t is plain he has no fear 
of the Gaspee” 

“None whatever, sir.” 

“I am taking my hospitable hosts home with me to 
Newport for the night,” his Excellency continued. 
“Now, hark ye, lad, sail back to your father, and 
tell him we will start him on his way to Providence. 
Tell him these are the governor’s commands: 
that he and you and Mistress Nancy make ready to 
dine aboard the Sea Nymph, to sup at the gov¬ 
ernor’s house, and to be his guests overnight. We 
shall be waiting at your dock to carry the three of 
you to Newport, where, without doubt, you will find 
sloops aplenty to-morrow morning, to hire for the 
rest of your voyage. And so you ’ll have but a day’s 
delay, instead of a week’s. Now, mind you, my 
young friend, these are official orders. See to it 
that the colonel obeys them.” 

“I ’ll see to it, your Excellency,” Dick promised, 
returning the laugh in the governor’s eye, but rather 
taken aback by the thought of the honors impending. 
Pausing only to thank the ruler of the province, he 
dived once more and struck out for his shallop. 

“Don’t bring the whole ocean into the boat with 
you, please,” Nancy besought him, laughing and 


TRAPPED AND KIDNAPPED 


23 


drawing in her skirts, as he climbed over the gun¬ 
wale of the Saucebox and landed in the cockpit, ac¬ 
companied by much salt water. She plied him with 
questions: “How is the poor little dog? Was he 
nearly drowned? What did Phyllis say to you? Is 
she pretty when you look at her close by? Did you 
see any moonlight glories in her hair?” 

U I see sunlight freckles on your nose,” was Dick’s 
flattering reply. 

The freshening sea-breeze was chilling him 
through his drenched shirt. He caught up his coat, 
and found to his surprise a sheet of paper protrud¬ 
ing from a pocket. It had not been there when he 
tossed the coat aside. Dick shot a quick glance at 
Nancy, as he crushed his first and last poem out 
of sight. 

“I don’t need it any longer,” she explained gra- 
iously. “I Ve learned the rest of it by heart 
now. ’ ’ 

The Sea Nymph was waiting at the pier as a tall 
and dignified gentleman, slightly lame, came down 
to the shore, with Nancy clinging to his arm. The 
dignified gentleman was known to the community 
in general as “the colonel,” and to Nancy as 
“Pa pa ”—a name which she accented prettily on the 
second syllable, her eighteenth-century tongue be¬ 
ing unacquainted with “poppa.” The disheveled 
little hoyden whom Dick had kidnapped was now a 
trim and dainty maiden in a blue pelisse, her unruly 
curls submissive under a broad-brimmed straw hat 



24 WHITE FIRE 

tied with blue ribbons beneath her saucy chin. Dick 
was striding on ahead. He had dashed madly into 
his best suit, and was now “a gay macaroni/’ as 
Nancy called him, in plum-colored coat and knee- 
breeches, the latter adorned like his shoes with 
flashing steel buckles, a ruffled shirt-front, crisply 
starched, and a satin waistcoat embroidered by the 
good angel of his life, Lisette. To complete the 
party came Pompey, carrying the luggage, and 
transformed into a youthful lackey in the livery, 
bright with brass buttons, that he wore on Sun¬ 
days and gala occasions. 

But it was neither at Dick’s waistcoat nor Nancy’s 
beribboned hat, nor yet at Pompey’s buttons, that 
the guests aboard the Sea Nymph , each in turn, were 
leveling the governor’s spy-glass. A still more 
gorgeous resident of Colonel Monteith’s estate was 
just then parading up and down the sea-wall, de¬ 
murely followed by his wife. Antony and Cleo¬ 
patra, the pair of peacocks that Nancy had taught 
to feed out of her hand, had come down together 
to inspect his Excellency’s yacht. But Mark An¬ 
tony refused to spread forth the glories of his tail. 
He appeared nervous and uncomfortable, as some 
will, who unexpectedly “have greatness thrust upon 
them.” He had been decorated. Around his 
metallic, blue-green neck he was wearing a cravat 
made out of a little white linen handkerchief, and 
to this was attached a crimson rosette, thrust 
through with a silver arrow! 


TRAPPED AND KIDNAPPED 25 

“Isn’t it becoming to him, Dick?” Nancy asked 
sweetly. 

Dick made no comment, but he gave chase to Mark 
Antony and waylaid him and wrested from him 
that decoration hallowed by the touch of Miss Cyn¬ 
thia’s hand. That crimson badge of honor was re¬ 
served for a yet more startling fate, and one with 
which Dick’s own destiny was to be strangely and 
closely interwoven. 


I 


.CHAPTER II 

WHO ’s AFRAID ? 

T HE Rose of England will now cease to pine for 
her home garden. She has found a sister 
in the Wild Sweet Brier of the Colonies.” Thus 
Governor Wanton ended a second introduction, 
which ceremony took place aboard the Sea Nymph . 

‘ 4 That’s what you are, Nan, wild and thorny,’’ 
Dick murmured in the Sweet Brier’s ear. 

His Excellency turned aside to chat with his older 
guests, leaving the brother and sister from England 
to grow acquainted with the colonial lad and lass, 
as the pinnace glided away from the Narragansett 
coast, steering toward Beaver Tail, for Conanicut 
Island with that monstrous geographical beaver for 
its southern end, lay between the home strand and 
Newport Harbor. Deliverance from his elders un¬ 
tied the tongue of Philip Templeton. He had been 
apparently studying the boards of the deck during 
the presentation, but now he looked up and de¬ 
manded a bit resentfully, as if the New World had 
cheated him by not placing its wonders on exhibi¬ 
tion, “Where are all your red Indians?” 

“Yes, where are they?” echoed his sister. “I 
thought we should see their wigwams on top of the 

rocks as we sailed up the coast; but we did not see 

26 


WHO ’S AFRAID? 27 

a single one! Where are they all, the horrible sav¬ 
age creatures ?” 

“A good many of them are underground,’’ Dick 
remarked dryly, thinking of the nearly wiped out 
Narragansett tribe. “But the live ones are over 
that way”—with a sweep of his arm from south to 
north, that took in the whole western sky-line. Just 
how many miles distant “over that way” meant, he 
did not trouble himself to make clear. “We don’t 
keep the wild ones in chicken-coops,” he explained. 
“We let ’em roam. They ’re scattered all over. 
America is a pretty big place, you know; a good deal 
bigger than England.” 

“And very barbarous,” breathed Phyllis, in a 
tone of awe. “Phil and I have heard how the sav¬ 
ages come down and burn your villages, and carry 
the women and children away captive! ’ ’ 

“Sister heard an owl screech last night, and she 
thought it was a war-whoop!” jeered her twin. 
“She was sure the redskins were coming to scalp 
us all. Do you have fights with them often?” he 
asked hopefully. 

“We’ve not had any this year; that is, around 
Narragansett,” Dick replied, with a suitably grave 
face, but with a sly glance at Nancy. 

She smothered a titter. There had been no red¬ 
skin raids in New England within her memory. 

“The first time we met Papa,” said Phyllis, “he 
told us a terrible tale about a great Indian chief, 
King Philip. Fancy a red man having the same 
name as Phil! He and his savages made war on 


28 


WHITE FIRE 


the white people. They burned their towns and 
massacred them! I scarcely slept a wink last night 
for thinking of that tale. I should die of fright if 
any of those hideous, painted creatures came near 
me!” 

“Dick can tell you plenty of horrible stories about 
Indians,’’ Nancy announced. “They ’ll make your 
hair stand on end! ’ ’ 

“Oh, la! That one Papa told us was enough for 
me,” declared Phyllis, with a shudder. “But there 
are so many vessels in the bay, if the red Indians 
should attack us again, we could flee to the boats, 
could we not!” 

“No need for you to flee,” said Dick, admiringly. 
“Let the redskin warriors have a sight of the Rose 
of England, and they ’ll turn as gentle as lambs. 
They ’ll fall on their knees and worship the Sun- 
Maiden.” 

Now the gallantry of this remark surprised Dick 
himself, as it fell glibly from his lips. Nancy ut¬ 
tered a little crow of glee. “Good for Dicky! He’s 
learning to make pretty speeches! Sweet Cynthia 
must have taught him. And he used to be so afraid 
of girls!” 

Dick looked as if he could cuff her with pleasure 
for this compliment, which added to her joy. 

Phyllis regarded her suspiciously. 44 When I told 
you how afraid I was of the red Indians, I could see 
you were laughing at me. But, tell me, have you no 
fear of the savages!” 


29 


WHO ’S AFRAID ? 

Nancy chuckled that delectable chuckle of hers. 
“I’m too well used to one of them,” she replied, 
with a sidewise flash of a naughty eye at Dick. 

He on his part assured Phyllis: “Nan never 
need fear scalping. Her hair protects her. Foxy, 
what was it the great chief of the Wampanoags said 
to you, the time he spared your life? ‘Little pale¬ 
face squaw carry bonfire on head, hut no burn up. 
She witch-maiden. Big chief no scalp. ’Fraid 
scorch fingers. ’ ” 

Pretty Phyllis looked still more suspicious. She 
seemed to catch the glimmer of a joke. Then she 
asked eagerly, “But where does the sachem live?” 

“The sachem?” 

“Yes, was not that what Papa called him, Phil?” 

Philip nodded. “Yes, the sachem—Chief Canoni- 
cus. Father says he’s our near neighbor. But 
I ’ve not found the track— trail —to his wigwam 
yet.’ ’ 

“And I hope you ’ll not try to, all by yourself,” 
cried his sister. “Papa won’t tell Phil how to find 
the sachem. He says he must go out and hunt for 
him with a gun over his shoulder like a good pioneer. 
But indeed I think that would be very dangerous. 
The sachem might be in hiding^ and shoot him with 
arrows. ’ ’ 

“Scare-cat!” muttered Phil, contemptuously. 
“I’m going to hunt old Canonicus to-morrow.” 

“He’s young Canonicus,” Nancy corrected. Her 
eyes were dancing and her dimples deepening. 


30 


WHITE FIRE 


“He ’s your very very near neighbor. Would you 
like to know how near? Well, I ’ll tell you. He’s 
aboard this boat! ’ ’ 

“What!” 

“Where?” 

“A red Indian aboard this boat?” 

“You ’re only chaffing,” said Philip. 

“No, no, I’m not. Here he is.” Nancy indicated 
Dick by a pat on his bronze cheek. ‘ ‘ This is Chief 
Canonicus.” 

“Oh, la! not really!” gasped Phillis. 

“If you don’t believe it, look at him. See how 
dark he is; and his hair, it’s as black as a crow’s 
wing and as straight as an arrow. And look at his 
Indian nose!” 

Phyllis obeyed. Her blue eyes, round with won¬ 
der and expressing a growing belief that Nancy 
spoke the truth, fixed themselves on Dick till the 
hot blood mounted under the bronze. This youth 
before her was certainly not English. To be sure, 
had she but known it, his features were much too 
finely cut to be those of the full-blooded redskin 
warrior, his eyes larger than Indian eyes are wont 
to be, though as dark: still, the aquiline cast of his 
profile and his glance that seemed able to pierce the 
far distance, both strongly suggested the young 
brave. 

“Are you really a red Indian, then?” demanded 
Phyllis; and Dick confessed: “I’m the only In¬ 
dian in the neighborhood.” 

She drew a long breath. “A redskin! Fancy 


WHO ’S AFRAID? 


31 


that! But you ’re not so very red.” Her per¬ 
plexity grew as she compared Dick’s swarthiness 
with Nancy’s blond coloring and bright curls. 
“But—your sister —she does not look like an In¬ 
dian. ’ ’ 

“No,” Dick admitted, “Nan’s not a redskin, only 
a red-head. The color settled in her hair by mis¬ 
take.” 

“I’m not really his sister,” laughed Nancy. 
“I’m only a make-believe.” 

“And your father—Colonel Monteith?” stam¬ 
mered the bewildered English girl. 

“He’s only a make-believe father, but he’s dearer 
than a real one,” Nancy explained. 

Here Philip turned upon Dick. “Did they cap¬ 
ture you in battle?” 

‘ ‘ There was a battle, a big one. But it was over 
when they caught me.” 

“And you fought hard before they took you, I 
warrant! ’ ’ 

“They say I did.” 

Phyllis clasped her hands. “Oh, how thrilling it 
all is! And they took you prisoner and tamed you? 
You must have been very quick to learn. Why, 
you ’re like one of us, now!” 

“And you used to go on the war-path before you 
were captured?” asked Phil. 

Dick shook his head. “Not often. You see I 
was pretty young.” 

“And I’m sure you never scalped any one,” said 
Phyllis. 


32 


WHITE FIEE 


Dick uttered a groan, as though his soul were 
overburdened. 4 ‘Ugh! There are some things in 
my past that I—I never talk about. But you 
needn’t fear me now, Miss Phyllis. On my honor 
as a tamed savage, I have no scalping-knives about 
me to-day.” 

Phyllis looked uncomfortable, but she said 
politely: “I suppose it was when they made you an 
Englishman that they changed your name to Dick. 
But do tell us about the time when you were the 
wild Sachem Canonicus. And, oh, pray talk some 
red Indian to us!” 

Dick looked at Nancy, and she at him. Then they 
both burst out laughing. “You have me trapped 
now, Miss Phyllis!” Dick confessed. “I never was 
a wild sachem, and all the ‘ red Indian’ I ever talked 
I ’ve forgotten long ago. I never lived in a wig¬ 
wam, nor wore paint and feathers. I had an, Algon¬ 
quin grandmother. That’s as near as I come to be¬ 
ing a redskin.” 

“She was a beautiful Indian princess,” Nancy 
put in, “and her father was a great Indian chief 
called Red Wolf, the most famous of his tribe. 
And, just for fun, people call Dick ‘the Sachem,’ and 
they’ve nicknamed him ‘ Canonicus, ’ for there really 
was a great Narragansett sachem called Canonicus. 
He was the friend of Roger Williams, who founded 
our colony. ’ ’ 

Phyllis drew a long breath. “Then Papa was 
only jesting! La, now who’d have thought it! 
lie looked so serious.” 


WHO ’S AFRAID? 


33 


“He ’s always chaffing,’’ grunted Philip. 

“Well, Dick’s the only Indian chief you ’ll find 
around here,” said Nancy, “so you’d better be 
satisfied. It’s too bad he’s forgotten the Indian 
words he used to know, but you see he was only 
three and a half, and I was a tiny baby, when Papa 
found us in Quebec after the battle.” 

“Quebec!” exclaimed the English girl. “Why 
that’s the city we took from the French! What are 
you, then, if you come from Quebec?” 

“Subjects of King Louis instead of King George,” 
replied Nancy, with a defiant little toss of her 
head. 

“Then—you ’re French /” 

“Of course I’m French, and Dick’s French and 
Indian. Isn’t it frightful?” laughed Nancy. 
Phyllis looked as if she thought so. 

“Never mind,” said Philip, consolingly. “You 
could n’t help that. People can’t help what they ’re 
born, you know. And, besides, you ’re subjects of 
King George now. That makes you British.” 

Nancy tossed her head again. 11 But maybe it does 
not,” said she. “Maybe we ’ll never be British. 
Maybe I ’ll always love King Louis better than King 
George.” 

“Treason! Treason!” cried Dick. “Don’t let 
the governor hear you.” And Phyllis looked prop¬ 
erly shocked. 

“I know when they found you!” said Phil. 
“ ’T was when we British took Quebec; when Gen¬ 
eral Wolfe beat Montcalm on the plains of Abra- 


34 WHITE FIRE 

ham, and we gave those French frog-eaters a jolly 
good drubbing!” 

“Hush, Phil, don’t be rude,” whispered his sister. 

“And high time you did pay us back, if ever you 
were going to,” Dick retorted. “We frog-eaters 
thrashed you British soundly enough, all the first 
years of the war.” 

Master Phil ruffled up at this, like a young game¬ 
cock. “The British are never thrashed. That was 
only—” 

His sister interfered good-humoredly: “Come, 
now, let’s not quarrel. The war was over long ago. 
And do tell us how Colonel Monteith found you both 
in Quebec.” 

Nancy’s tongue was always more eager than 
Dick’s to be in motion, and she was ready enough to 
thrill their English friends anew. 

“Dick and I were in Quebec all the time it was 
being besieged,” she told them proudly. “But of 
course we don’t remember anything about it our¬ 
selves. Why, I was born only a little while before 
the siege began. But Mama Lisette—she was my 
nurse, and now she’s our housekeeper—Mama 
Lisette has often told us how dreadful it was, and 
what a noise the bombshells made, and how the 
houses were on fire or tumbling down in ruins, and 
how we had to take refuge in the fort. That was 
when Dick lost his mother.” 

“My home was wrecked by shell-fire. I was the 
only one saved,” said Dick. 

“And then my mother took care of him,” Nancy 


WHO ’S AFRAID? 


35 


went on. “Our fathers were in the same regiment, 
you see. They were 6 brothers in arms.’ And they 
were both killed in the great battle on the plains of 
Abraham. And then, after the battle, the British 
marched into Quebec, and our new father was with 
them.” 

“He had volunteered with the Royal Americans,” 
Dick thrust in. “It was in that battle he got the 
wound that’s left him lame for life.” 

“Yes,” Nancy took up the thread, “Papa was 
wounded, and they brought him to the place where 
we were, to take care of him. And when he was 
getting well he made friends with us, and petted us. 
Only Dick was not very friendly at the start. Papa 
says the first time a British soldier picked him up 
he kicked and screamed and scratched and bit, so 
he really did fight when he was captured. But 1 
was very polite. I let all the soldiers carry me 
around and play with me; and Papa loved me best, 
because I made him think of his own little baby girl 
who had died. He had lost his wife and his baby 
too, poor Papa! So of course he was very, very 
lonely. That’s why he petted us so. And he was 
so sorry for my mother! She was so sad and so 
beautiful. He says my mother was very beautiful. 
Then the winter came; it was fearfully cold, and 
the soldiers had no good food, and ever so many fell 
sick. Papa starved himself to save food for us. 
But my mother died before the spring came.” 
There was a soft, sad note in the voice of the 
motherless girl. “So, when the time came for 


36 


WHITE FIRE 


Papa to go home, he took us with him, and Mama 
Lisette, too, to take care of us. Hick can remember 
being on the ship. So Papa brought us all to Nar- 
ragansett, and—” the sad note changed to a merry 
one—“we ’ve lived happily ever after.” 

“ ’T is better than a fairy-tale, is it not, Phil!” 
cried Phyllis. “And what a lovely ending!” 

“Lovelier for us than for Father,” remarked 
Hick. “He says we gave him more trouble than a 
regiment of raw recruits.” 

“7 didn’t. You did,” retorted Nancy. “I was 
always a very obedient child.” The colonel’s 
adopted son whistled. “But Hick turned out a bad, 
naughty boy! Why, what do you think! Once he 
ran away, and—” 

“Hold there, Maria Jane Nancy,” Hick protested. 
“Hon’t stretch out the story as long as your name.” 

“Oh, you have three names, have you?” asked 
Phyllis. 

“No, I have six, and two last names. That 
makes eight. I’m Marie Jeanne Anastasie Cath¬ 
erine Louise Genevieve de Fontaines— Monteith!” 

It was Philip’s turn to whistle, and his sister 
cried: “La, my dear! Hoes n’t it put you out of 
breath?” 

But it took more than that to render Nancy breath¬ 
less. “And Hick,” she told them, “is really Ar- 
mand Louis Claude de Laval— Monteith. But the 
British soldiers nicknamed him ‘Hick’; so Papa kept 
it up. And he shortened me to 4 Nancy ’: Anastasie 
—Anne—Nan—Nancy. Hon’t you see?” 


WHO *S AFRAID? 


37 


She turned her head, and saw the eyes of her 
foster-father resting upon her with that tenderness 
that always softened his glance when he looked at 
her, but with that hint of sadness, too, which she 
had noticed in it of late but could not understand. 

Strange were the interwoven threads of destiny 
that had given a son and daughter to this lonely 
man, who had lost all that made life sweet. Nearly 
half a century before the British took Quebec, a 
French nobleman, receiving a grant of land in what 
was then called “New France,** made his home in 
the Canadian wilds; and in due time he led to 
the altar an Indian maiden, the fairest of her 
race. 

In after years, two young officers in the service 
of King Louis crossed the seas to New France. The 
first to come won for his bride the daughter of the 
French nobleman and his Indian princess. The 
other brought a “lily of France,** a fair young wife 
from his own land. In the New World as in the 
Old, French and English met in deadly struggle. 
Battle and death and heartbreak, that was the story 
of those gallant soldiers and their brides. And 
afterward? All that was left, a baby girl, like a 
rose-leaf dropped upon northern snows, and a little 
brown boy, wild and shy as a papoose, heir to a 
tract of land, mostly wilderness, which would be 
his when he came of age, if the British crown chose 
to recognize his claim! Nobody there to guard and 
shelter them in their helpless childhood except one 
of the enemy, and that one the man whose hungry 


38 


WHITE FIRE 


heart needed something to fill it. And so out of the 
fortunes of love and war was woven the fabric of 
James Monteith’s new happiness. A golden fabric, 
yet just now threatened with a grievous rent! But 
of this Nancy knew nothing, and so the look in her 
father’s eyes remained a mystery. 

She forgot to wonder about it, as Phil, hoping that 
though the redskins had failed him the buccaneers 
would not, suddenly asked, “Are there any pirates 
on this coast?” 

“Pirates? The w T orst kind!” Dick burst out. 
“Right in this bay, and wearing the king’s uni¬ 
form, shame on them!” 

The English lad stared at him. “What do you 
mean? There are no pirates in our navy.” 

Dick laughed scornfully. “No pirates, eh? 
What do you call a blackguard who fires upon mar¬ 
ket-boats, seizes every vessel he can catch, plunders 
the islands of sheep and hogs, cuts down trees, and 
insults honest people ? he’d hang them if he could! 
He ought to be hanged himself!” 

“But who is the rascal?” asked Phil. 

“Dudingston, the commander of the Gaspee, con¬ 
found him! He ought to fly the skull and cross- 
bones instead of the British ensign.” 

“The schooner Gaspee? Why, she’s one of our 
government cruisers!” exclaimed Phil. “We saw 
her as we were coming into port. Our captain said 
she was here to break up the smuggling along the 
coast. He says you have a rascally set of smugglers 
here.” 


WHO ’S AFRAID ? 39 

“We have free men here,” Dick flung back. 
“Men of too much spirit to be slaves.” 

“But they ’re smugglers,” Phil insisted. “The 
captain said all the New Englanders were ever so 
busy smuggling from port to port.” 

“It’s the unjust laws that drive them to it,” 
Dick broke out hotly, ‘ ‘ the shameful tyrannous laws 
that would bind us hand and foot! But the men of 
New England are bold enough to defy them, and 
defy them they will, though all King George’s navy 
should turn pirate and ravage the coast!” 

Phil sprang to his feet and clapped his hand to 
his side, as if he expected to find a sword there. 
“You dare call the officers of the King’s navy 
pirates! My father, Captain Templeton, was in the 
navy, and I’m going into it next year!” 

“Better keep out of these waters, then,” Dick 
advised him, a threat of war in his voice and his 
lowering look. He had spoken louder than he knew, 
and an authoritative hand fell on his shoulder. 

“Have a care, my son,” said Colonel Monteith. 
“Would you have our friends from England mistake 
you for a smuggler or one of a pirate crew?” 

Dick bit his lip and held his peace, but the fires 
of indignation still burned in his dark eyes. 

Here Governor Wanton drew his spoiled pet 
Nancy to his side. “We aboard the Sea Nympli 
will have to keep a weather-eye out for the Gaspee,” 
said he. “If Dudingston finds out what sort of a 
cargo we are carrying to-day, I shall surely forfeit 
my governorship.” 


40 


WHITE FIRE 


Saucy Nan shook her forefinger at him, and whis¬ 
pered, “Has your Excellency been smuggling, too?” 

‘ ‘ Governor though I am, I plead guilty. ’T is 
neither sugar, molasses, nor rum that I have smug¬ 
gled aboard, but something far more precious.” 
He bent his head, and in a loud stage-whisper de¬ 
livered his secret into Nancy’s ear: “It is gold!” 

“Gold, sir?” 

“Ay, gold! A most dangerous hoard, and 
brighter than ever loaded a Spanish caravel! If 
this becomes known to the Admiralty, I shall swing 
for a pirate. Now what shall I do, little mistress, 
in such a plight as this?” 

“I should bury it quick, sir, before greedy old 
Dudingston can steal it.” 

“Heyday! Then we should have to bury you, 
little lady, for all the gold we have aboard the 
Sea Nymph is right here on your head.” He 
touched her shining curls. 

“My red hair! Is that the gold, sir?” Nancy 
caught a fly-away ringlet and examined it critically. 

“I fear his Excellency’s eyesight is failing,” said 
Colonel Monteith. “He needs spectacles. Hawtie, 
that curl is not gold; it’s only copper.” 

But Nancy insisted gleefully: “Gold! Gold! 
My hair is gold! The governor says so, and his 
word is law. If Dick ever dares to call me ‘ House 
Aiire’ again—” 

“If he does, report him to me ” said his Excel¬ 
lency, “and I ’ll give my skipper orders to keel¬ 
haul him.” 


WHO’S AFRAID? 


41 


“You spoil my lassie outrageously,” Colonel Mon- 
teith protested, when the governor had released his 
pet. “She’s a wilful little baggage, and growing 
saucier every day.” 

“Wherefore every day you love her the more,” 
retorted Governor Wanton. “How old is she? 
Already in her teens? Mark my words, in three 
years time she ’ll be giving you more trouble than 
your fire-brand Dick. I vow,” he added laughing, 
“We ’ll soon see all the young swains in this colony 
taking to swords and pistols over the disputed ques¬ 
tion of the color of your Nancy’s eyes. It will rival 
the quarrel over the revenue laws.” 

James Stuart Monteith, that Scotchman whom a 
strange fate had exiled to the Rhode Island shore, 
smiled, then quickly frowned, and his face grew set 
and stern. Trouble was already brewing, but not 
over the color of Nancy’s eyes—“midnight eyes” 
he called them, so deep was their blue. It was 
trouble of another sort, and she, his darling, was 
the innocent cause of it. 

Ships and barques and brigantines, sloops and 
schooners, were resting safely sheltered in Newport 
jHarbor, with no Gaspee disturbing their peace, 
when, late in the afternoon, the Sea Nymph put into 
port. Ilis Excellency’s coach and pair carried 
their owner and his guests to the governor’s man¬ 
sion; and if Dick’s wrath against “Pirate Duding- 
ston” and his kind, and Phil’s over insults to the 
British navy, was still smoldering when they dined 
aboard the yacht, injuries and affronts were alike 


42 


WHITE FIRE 


forgotten under the beguiling influence of the 
creams and tarts, the jellies and whipped sillibub 
that crowned the evening banquet at the governor’s 
table. 

‘ 4 Father, why not take the Providence packet ?” 
Dick proposed next morning. “Cap’n Lindsay says 
she sails at noon. And what do we care if old Dud 
chases us?” 

He had come back from a stroll with Phil down to 
the wharf and a chat with the skipper of the Provi¬ 
dence packet, otherwise the Hannah , which had put 
into the harbor the day before on her way back 
from New York. Dick’s suggestion seemed a good 
one. Colonel Monteith had lingered too long that 
morning, discussing the troubles of the province 
with Governor Wanton, and he was impatient of 
further delay. 

“Have a care,” the governor warned him. “The 
watch-dog of the royal navy is over-likely to think 
he smells eontrabrand in the Hannah’s cargo.” 

But it was in the colonel’s nature, as in Dick’s, 
to delight in taking a chance. 

4 ‘ Come, Dawtie, we must tear you and Miss Phyl¬ 
lis apart,” he said to Nancy. “We sail at noon on 
the packet, and ’t is high time we were off! His 
Excellency has been spoiling you quite long enough. 
The quicker we land you in the company of sober 
Friends and give you some demure little Quaker¬ 
esses for companions, the better.” 


WHO ’S AFRAID? 


43 


The trip to Providence meant a visit at the home 
of the colonel’s good friend, John Fairchild, of 
Rhode Island Quaker stock. This bright Tuesday 
Quaker John and his wife would surely be looking 
for the three guests who had failed them the day 
before. 

“We ’ll not let the Fairchilds’ supper grow cold 
waiting in vain for us this time,” said the colonel, 
as, an hour later, the pilgrims bound for Providence 
stood on the deck of the Hannah. 

Captain Lindsay of the Providence packet had 
given the Gaspee the slip many a time before, and 
he meant to do it again. Eight bells sounded; the 
Hannah hoisted sail. Undisturbed by any domi¬ 
neering naval tyrants, she left her dock with four 
new passengers aboard. 

“Old Hud’s asleep for once,” said Dick, as they 
watched the crowded wharf recede in the distance, 
and the green strip that was Conanicut Island loom 
larger across the blue. But as they headed north¬ 
ward Pompey’s fingers sought the place on his neck 
where the rabbit’s foot should have hung. 

“Gittin’ out o’ Newport ain’ de same as gittin’ 
in to Providence,” he reminded his young master. 
“Bad luck am cornin’ yit.” 

Nancy enjoyed the chance to have her laugh out 
over the twins and their 1 ‘ red Indians. ” “ Oh, Dick, 

did you see Phyllis’s round eyes when she heard 
you were the Sachem Canonicus? Stupid, why 
did n’t you war-whoop for her?” 


44 


WHITE FIRE 


“ You ’ll war-whoop in another minute/’ re¬ 
turned Dick, who had been scanning the coast-line. 
‘ 4 Look there!” 

Nancy’s startled glance followed his pointing 
hand, and she sprang to her feet with a scream, as 
he cried out, this time in deadly earnest: 

‘ 4 Here comes the Gaspee, heading for us now!” 

The other passengers, and there were at least a 
dozen aboard, sprang to their feet as suddenly as the 
frightened girl. If the Gaspee had been caught nap¬ 
ping when the Hannah slipped out of port, she was 
now wide-awake. She had shot out from the cove 
where she had been hiding, and here she came under 
full sail, bearing down on the escaping packet-boat. 

In an instant the whole scene aboard the Hannah 
was changed. The captain, cool as ever but with a 
defiant glint in his eyes, shouted the orders that 
sent the crew scurrying to their posts of duty. The 
Hannah instantly changed her course and, crowd¬ 
ing on more sail, showed a clean pair of heels to 
the Gaspee. Her skipper knew her paces well, and 
he was proud of her speed. Stay to be overhauled 
by a bullying government cruiser, and lose that 
valuable cargo stowed away in the hold? Not he! 
Not if his name was Benjamin Lindsay and his na¬ 
tive colony Rhode Island, whose sons yielded to 
no master! 

Excitement reigned among the passengers. A 
bride and groom were aboard, and the bride, a slip 
of a girl, clung, white and trembling, to her young 
husband’s arm. “They’ll take us all prisoner!” 


WHO ’S AFRAID? 45 

she wailed, and the sight of Pompey’s tragically 
rolling eyes added to her panic. 

“Dah come de Gaspee! Dah she come!” he 
shouted. “Jes’ like I knowed she would! What 
I say, Marse Dick? I toP you we wuz in for bad 
luck! Now we’s gittin’ it! We gwine be busted 
up, all ’count o’ losin’ dat pesky rab—” 

“Shut up, you big booby! You ’re frightening 
the lady,” Dick admonished him. “You ’ve a rab- 
bit’s heart inside of you; isn’t that enough?” 

Pompey subsided with the reproachful look of 
a prophet whose word has been scorned. 

Colonel Monteith had drawn his Nancy protect- 
ingly into the shelter of his arm, and he smiled re¬ 
assuringly, as he looked down into her upturned 
face. Her cheeks had lost their shell-pink tint. 
“Why, this is sport!” he declared. “Now we shall 
have a glorious race! Bless me, you ’re not fright¬ 
ened, are you, little one? A soldier’s daughter 
ought to love an adventure like this!” 

Nancy laughed bravely. “Who’s afraid? Not 
I!” And, to kindle her own courage, she kept re¬ 
peating the challenge: “Who’s afraid? Who’s 
afraid?” 

“Who’s afraid?” echoed the bridegroom. 

The other passengers took up the words. 
“Who’s afraid?” became the battle-cry aboard the 
dauntless Hannah. 

The armed schooner loomed appallingly big and 
near. Suddenly a flash of flame and a cloud of 
smoke burst from the bow of the Gaspee . Boom! 



46 


WHITE FIRE 


The warning shot sped over the water. One of her 
eight guns was calling the packet to halt and sur¬ 
render. 

“That was but a shot to warn us,” said Colonel 
Monteith. “And that’s as near as any ball will 
come to hitting the Hannah. But I think,” he 
added, turning to the poor little bride, who was 
now sobbing, “that you, madam, and my daughter 
will both be happier in the cabin, if they keep on 
saluting us.” 

“No, no! Let me stay here with you, Papa!” 
pleaded Nancy. There came another threatening 
Boom! but, though the hand clasped in the colonel’s 
was icy cold, she called out defiantly: ‘ ‘ Fire away, 

Master Dudingston! You won’t hit anybody but 
mermaids! ’ ’ 

Both vessels, pursuer and pursued, were sailing 
close-hauled, the Gaspee straining her utmost to 
swallow up the distance that barred her from her 
prey, the Hannah fleeing for her life. Many were 
the taunts flung back at their enemy by jeering young 
patriots aboard the packet. 

“Come on, old Dud! Come on, bully boy!” 
shouted Dick, leaning over the taffrail to shake his 
fist. “Catch us, if you can! Hannah ’s the lively 
lass! She won’t stop for you, you old scoundrel!” 

“Hannah is shore a libely gal!” chanted Pompey, 
his courage on the rebound. “Hi, Marse Duddy! 
Why n’t you hurry up an’ cotch us? You shore 
am powerful slow! ’ ’ 

Many a race has been run in Narragansett Bay in 


WHO ’S AFRAID?. 


47 


the years that have rolled by since Lieutenant Dud- 
ingston of the royal navy unwittingly helped the 
cause of the Revolution; but none so famous as that 
one, for the consequences that it brought. It was a 
race that swept on mile after mile, the Hannah hold¬ 
ing her own, the Gaspee pressing her hard but still 
unable to wipe out that stretch of flashing blue- 
green water between them and bring her guns into 
play against the packet’s hull. Small coasting-ves¬ 
sels, fishing-craft, and market-boats witnessed the 
race. Some fled to the nearest harbor, but most of 
them kept jauntily on their course, for the Gaspee 
was too intent upon her chosen prey to turn aside 
and give them chase. 

Dick and the other young patriots aboard the 
Hannah taunted and threatened and jeered them¬ 
selves hoarse. Wrathful as they were at the Gas¬ 
pee, they were enjoying the race mightily. Nancy 
grew dizzy from continually gazing backward at 
the pursuing monster, that dragon with sails for 
wings, that now seemed to drop behind and now 
to be gaining, gaining! Her heart had ceased its 
tumultuous pounding. The first stabbing keenness 
of excitement was giving place to a strained, half- 
stupefied feeling, in the presence of that hurrying 
vengeance that still pursued but failed to overtake 
them. If only the wind would shift to the south, 
sending the Hannah racing before it! But that 
would be to speed the Gaspee faster, too. What 
if the breeze should suddenly die down, with the 
port of Providence still miles away? Nancy shud- 


48 


WHITE FIRE 


dered at the thought till she remembered that then 
the Gaspee, too, would be becalmed. Would Dud- 
ingston come after them with his small boats 1 
The race must end some time; but when, and where, 
and how? 

At last the answer came. The tide had been at 
ebb two hours. The Hannah was standing easterly: 
near at hand, but to the westward, a spit of land, 
Namquit Point, jutted out into the bay. But the 
hunted packet had still about seven miles to cover, 
and the chase was closer than ever now. The Gas¬ 
pee was steadily gaining! 

A new tension of excitement gripped the watchers 
aboard the fleeing sloop, a sense that the crisis was 
near. Suddenly the Hannah changed her course. 
She came about and stood in toward the point. 
This brought her into shallow water, but the light 
packet-boat sped along daringly near the shore. 
The heavier Gaspee came about in her turn and 
followed recklessly where the Hannah led. And 
then—the race was ended! Aboard the fugitive 
sloop passengers and crew were cheering madly! 
Their enemy was no longer following. The power¬ 
ful gunboat had been too rash in trusting to the 
shallows. She had run aground near the end of 
Namquit Point. And there she lay, the terrible 
Gaspee , the tyrant of the coast, stuck fast—help¬ 
less ! 

Oh, the gibes and the liootings that burst forth! 
Dick and his fellow-patriots were pounding each 
other’s backs and shoulders, and doubling up with 


WHO ’S AFRAID! 


49 


laughter. As if possessed by the spirits of his an¬ 
cestors in the jungle, Pompey was executing a hila¬ 
rious dance, suggesting a victory revel in the wilds 
of Africa. Nor did his master rebuke him. The 
dignified colonel was too busy waving his cocked 
hat and joining in the cheers. Nancy clapped till 
her palms tingled, then waved her own small hand¬ 
kerchief with her left hand, and her father’s big 
one with her right, and chanted ecstatically: 

‘ ‘ Good-by, good-by, good-by, old Dud! 

Away we fly, while you stick in the mud! ’ ’ 

She even blew a mocking kiss from her finger-tips 
to the stranded Gaspee, while Dick vowed: “I’d 
give a hundred pounds, if I had ’em, to see old 
Dud’s face now, and to hear him! He ’ll be spitted 
on that spit till midnight! Can’t get off till the 
tide turns! ’ ’ 

Pompey hugged himself with glee. “Hi! Now’s 
de time to pay de ole pirate back! Ain’t it, Marse 
Dick! Wait till it gits dark, an’ den sneak up wiv 
a keg o’ gunpowder, an’ ’splode de ole Gaspee sky- 
high ! ’ ’ 

“That’s work for you , Pomp, if your heart’s as 
bold as your tongue.” 

“ Shore ’t is, Marse Dick. Yassah, I ’ll do it, my¬ 
self!” declared the dusky hero. “Jes’ gimme de 
gunpowder—an’ a rabbit’s foot to wear aroun’ my 
neck. ’ ’ 


CHAPTER III 


THE CALL OF THE DRUM 

A N excited crowd on the Providence wharf 
where, toward sundown, the Hannah, victor 
in that desperate race, had come to her well-earned 
rest! A hnbbub of voices, threats of vengeance, 
roars of laughter! Sailors and passengers from the 
packet-boat were spreading the news of how the 
Hannah had been pursued by the Gaspee and how 
the hated schooner had run aground. 

Colonel Monteith and Dick, with Nancy between 
them, were forcing their way through the press, 
with Pompey bringing up the rear and retaliating 
when strangers trod upon his heels by bumping 
their shins with his master’s luggage. Thus they 
pried an opening for themselves, till they came face 
to face wth a portly middle-aged man and a youth 
of about Dick’s years, thin as a lath, the two of them 
dressed in drab homespun suits of rigidly plain cut, 
and wearing broad-brimmed hats that scorned any 
worldly cocking. John Fairchild and his son Mat¬ 
thew had come down to the wharf in hopes of pos¬ 
sibly sighting the Monteiths’ sloop Mermaid at last, 
or receiving word of their expected visitors, from 
some incoming boat. They had been in time to hail 
the Hannah and hear the news. 

50 


THE CALL OF THE DRUM 


51 


“Ye be tardy guests, but doubly welcome ones / 7 
said Friend John, gripping the colonePs hand. “I 
hope, James, ’t is no mishap to thine own boat that 
hath made thee choose the packet instead. Thee 
and thy son and daughter must have had an ad¬ 
venturous voyage, from what I hear buzzed about 
me on all sides! ’ 9 

“That we have,” was the answer, “and one that 
we would not have missed for the world! And 
we have left the Gaspee stranded on Namquit 
Point! ’ 9 

John Fairchild took Nancy ’s hand and held it in 
fatherly fashion. “How does thee do, Daughter! 
Was thee frightened when the Gaspee gave thee 
chase!” 

“How do you do, Mr. Fairchild! Yes, I was 
dreadfully frightened at first, sir; but now I think 
it was glorious fun!” 

“Thee is a brave little maid. But, Daughter, 
thee must not ‘Sir’ me, or ‘ Mister ’ me. Thee is 
among the Friends now. Thee must call me plain 
4 John.’ ” 

Nancy looked up at him archly. “How does thee 
do, Plain John!” 

“Nancy!” When her father spoke her name in 
that tone, all the sauciness died out of Mistress Nan 
—for the moment. She turned rosy red and 
dropped her eyes meekly. Nobody could look 
meeker than Nancy when she chose to be a submis¬ 
sive lamb. But the kindly Quaker patted her hand 
and said, “Bless the child!” 


52 


WHITE FIRE 


Judging from the supper on which the travelers 
with sea appetites found themselves regaled in John 
Fairchild’s home, his wife had had full faith that 
her guests from Narragansett would not fail her 
this time. She had a huge chicken-pie with brown 
and frilly crust ready in their honor, and had mar¬ 
shaled forth her finest pickled dainties and marma¬ 
lades. Friend John and his wife sat side by side 
at the head of the long narrow table with its home- 
spun linen cloth and its outlay of shining pewter. 
Their guests were honored with places above the 
high salt-cellar in the center, which marked the 
dividing line between the upper and distinguished 
end of the board and the lower and humble one. 
Their sons and daughters sat ranged according to 
age, the two youngest present occupying lowly situa¬ 
tions at the foot of the table; all of them wearing 
the uniform Quaker drab, the girls with white gauze 
caps of primmest make and demure white kerchiefs, 
like their mother, and the whole six blessed with 
good Scripture names: Jonathan, Abigail, and Tir- 
zah, Matthew, Ruth, and Deborah. But the list did 
not end there. Three pewter porringers on the 
dresser represented the three smallest members of 
the family, Samuel, David, and Dorcas, already 
tucked into bed. 

“John! John! Who would have thought you 
would give us military music as an accompaniment 
to supper!” exclaimed Colonel Monteith, as the 
evening stillness was broken by the beating of a 
drum. 


THE CALL OF THE DRUM 


53 


John Fairchild shook his head in humorous de¬ 
spair. “Ah, these boys, these boys! They give us 
no peace with their drumming! ’’ 

“They must be marching, over on Main Street,” 
said Matthew. 

“To-day was training-day,” explained his older 
brother Jonathan. “The fellows were drilling on 
the green all the afternoon, with swords and mus¬ 
kets, and learning to beat the drum. They must 
be just breaking up now, after the fun.” 

“Fun!” cried his father. “Does thee call it fun 
to learn to use murderous weapons that tempt men 
to shed the blood of their brethren? Fie upon thee, 
Jonathan!” But the twinkle in John Fairchild’s 
eyes confessed, “I was young myself, once.” 

The drumming grew louder and louder, then 
stopped for a minute; and in the pause they could 
hear the distant sound of a man’s voice shouting 
something, but the Quaker’s house was too far from 
Main Street for them to hear the words. A chorus 
of cheers answered. 

“I dare say the fellow is proclaiming the news of 
how the Hannah escaped and the Gaspee lies 
stranded,” said Friend John. 

“No doubt,” agreed the colonel. 

The martial rum-ter-rum! began again. It ebbed 
away gradually as the drummer and his followers 
retreated, but only to swell louder once more, till 
it reached a high tide of warlike sound, as they 
came tramping back. It spoke to Dick of camp¬ 
fires and marching men, and stirred in him the blood 


54 


WHITE FIRE 


of a long line of soldier ancestors, chevaliers of 
France. He could no more resist the sound than he 
could the lure of the woods when the Indian awoke 
in him and the hunting-fever was upon him. 

As they rose from the table, Jonathan excused 
himself on the pretext of some errand he had for¬ 
gotten, and made a bee-line for Main Street and the 
drum. 

“Father, doesn’t thee think I’d better find out 
what all the rumpus is about?” asked Matthew. 
“They may have something more to tell us about 
the Gaspee.” 

“Ay, thee may as well go and see,” John Fair- 
child agreed, growing a bit curious himself by this 
time. “/But come back quickly and report. I ’ll 
have no lads of mine following the drum.” 

“Don’t you be gone long either, Dick!” the colonel 
called after his son; but Dick was already vanish¬ 
ing through the front doorway, ahead of Matthew, 
and his ears were deaf to any sound but the martial 
pne that was compelling him to follow. 

The tall standing clock ticked off the minutes, 
five, ten, twenty: no return of Matthew or Dick. 

“It’s time I was looking in upon my old friend, 
Judge Hopkins. I wrote him that he might expect 
a call from me this evening,” said Colonel Monteith. 
“Will my hostess pardon my absence?” 

“I will fetch a lantern and go with thee, James,” 
said Friend John. “Thee will need some one to 
light thy way for thee, coming back.” 


55 


THE CALL OF THE DRUM 

Left alone with her daughters and her youngest 
guest, Mother Fairchild read aloud the evening 
portion of Scripture. 

u Nancy, thine eyes are heavy with sleep,’’ she 
said at last, closing the Bible. “It’s time thee was 
in bed, my child, and the rest of ye, too! Debby, 
thee should have been there long ago.” 

“Oh, please let me stay up till Dick comes back, 
so I can hear what the drumming was about!” 
pleaded Nancy. “I’m not really sleepy, only a 
little blinky and yawny. It’s from the wind blow¬ 
ing in my face all day. That’s what makes my eyes 
keep shutting.” 

“I think it is the sandman, too,” said Mother 
Fairchild. 1 i Thee can hear all about the dramming 
in the morning. Fetch thy candle, Ruth.” 

Nancy found there was nothing for it hut to mount 
the steep, narrow staircase in the wake of Ruth and 
Deborah, up to their room where a high canopied 
four-poster, and a trundle-bed that had to be hauled 
out from beneath it, awaited the drowsy three. 
The big sisters, Abigail and Tirzah, followed, for 
people kept early hours in those days. Mother Fair- 
child remembered something that demanded her at¬ 
tention in the spinning-room, and so the whole lower 
story was deserted when, a few minutes later, Mat¬ 
thew entered the house—alone. But much giggling 
had delayed preparations for bed, and his tread on 
the stairs brought Nancy, Ruth, and Deborah out 
into the hall. 



56 


WHITE FIRE 


“ Where’s Dick!” asked Nancy. 

Matthew hesitated. “He—oh—he ’ll be back—by 
and by.” 

< ‘ Why, what do you mean ! Where has he gone ! ’ ’ 

Matthew looked uncomfortable, but he answered 
in an offhand way, “We met Eph Bowen and Turpin 
Smith, and-—er—some other fellows, and Dick went 
off with Turp. ’ ’ 

“How impolite of him,” exclaimed Nancy, “when 
he’s your guest! But tell us why they were beat¬ 
ing the drum.” 

“We told thee it was training-day,” was the eva¬ 
sive answer. 

Ruth eyed Matthew suspiciously. “Brother, thee 
is keeping something back.” 

“I know it was about the Gaspee,” said Nancy. 
“They were celebrating because we escaped and 
left her stuck on the point. Wasn’t that it!” 

Matthew mumbled, “Something like that.” 

“What were they doing!” asked Debby. “Just 
marching up and down!” 

Matthew hunched his shoulders. “Don’t ask me. 
1 wasn’t celebrating.” 

“Well, Dick was, then,” said Nancy, “and he ’ll 
get a scolding if he stays out late. Papa told him 
not to.” 

“He ’ll be back, when the fun’s over. Thee 
needn’t worry about Dick. He can take care of 
himself. But I’m sleepy. I’m off to bed. Good 
night. ’ ’ 



THE GALL OF THE DRUM 


57 


Swinging Deborah out of his way, Matthew made 
a dash for his own quarters. Mother Fairchild 
came back from the spinning-room and, seeing his 
door closed, tapped upon it. 

“Back all safe, Mother!” called her son; and it 
never entered the dear lady’s head to doubt that 
the “all safe” included Matthew’s room-mate, Dick. 

4 ‘ Jonathan is not home yet, but Matthew and Dick 
came in nigh an hour ago. They are in bed and 
asleep,” Mother Fairchild reported, when her hus¬ 
band returned with Colonel Monteith. “I was so 
thankful to have them safe back again, and not 
lingering any longer with that noisy crowd, I clean 
forgot to ask Matthew what the drumming was 
about! ’ ’ 

Her wandering son, Jonathan, reappeared just 
after the colonel had retired for the night. Then at 
last Friend John and his wife learned the meaning 
of that drumming. It was to announce the stranding 
of the Gaspee on Namquit Point, and to summon all 
persons minded to rid themselves, once and for all, 
of that persecuting armed cruiser—the plague of 
the coast'—to betake themselves to the house of Mr. 
James Sabin, down by the waterfront. The gentle 
Quaker pair were terribly perturbed. 

“Thee was gone a long time, Jonathan,” said his 
father. “I trust thee was not tempted to take part 
in such an act of vengeance?” 

“I—shall not take part,” replied the young 


58 WHITE FIRE 

Friend. “I did not even enter Sabin’s. I only 
hung about a while—to see what was going to hap¬ 
pen.” He avoided confessing that had he lingered 
much longer the temptation to join the daring ex¬ 
pedition to Namquit Point would have proved too 
much for him. Quaker principles had triumphed 
over the clamor of his hot young blood; and he had 
come home without suspecting that Dick, whose 
presence in the crowd he had failed to notice, had 
entered the rallying-place along with Turpin Smith. 

James Sabin kept a house of board and entertain¬ 
ment for gentlemen, as the weather-beaten sign over 
the door explained; and Dick was in the Sabin 
kitchen molding bullets. He was one of a group of 
young fellows, interspersed with some older men, 
nearly all of whom were as busy as he with bullet- 
ladles and bullet-molds. They were taking turns at 
melting a quantity of lead—and melting themselves 
into the bargain, as their moisture-bedewed faces 
showed—before the generous blaze leaping up from 
the andirons in the huge fireplace, and casting the 
molten metal into balls with which to load the flint¬ 
lock guns stacked against the wall. Dick, kneeling 
on the hearth, was engaged in transferring dripping 
lead from a ladle to a mold, and Turpin Smith was 
feeding the fire with more kindling, at the moment 
that Joe Bucklin, with Ephraim Bowen at his heels, 
stepped in from the room where a larger crowd of 
men had been holding a council of war. 

4 ‘Hark ye, comrades, the leader ’s been chosen!” 


59 


THE CALL OF THE DRUM 

Bucklin announced. “Cap ’n Abe Whipple, old 
‘Whip o’ the Game-CockV He takes command as 
‘head sheriff.’ Give him three cheers, and don’t 
forget his title.” 

The cheers were given with a thundering enthusi¬ 
asm that boded ill for Dudingston. Then Eph 
Bowen, resting his loaded gun in brotherly fashion 
on Bucklin’s shoulder, shouted: “And three cheers 
for John Brown! He’s the backbone of this ex¬ 
pedition!” 

John Brown in his turn was cheered to the skies, 
or rather to the smoke-blackened rafters. 

“Ay, he’s the backbone of it,” agreed Joseph 
Bucklin. “Have you heard the story, lads?” He 
turned to the latest arrivals. “As soon as he’d 
brought the Hannah safe into port, Cap’n Lindsay 
made straight for John Brown’s, and told him how 
he’d been chased by the Gaspee and led her into 
the shallows, and how the rascally schooner’s 
aground now on Namquit Point and can’t get off be¬ 
fore three in the morning. Mr. Brown’s a patriot, 
every inch of him! And when he heard that, he 
swore he’d make that brute Dudingston stop his 
scurvy tricks, and rid the coast of the gunboat pest 
forever! So he ordered that game old shipmaster, 
’Bijah Turnbull, to have the long-boats ready for us 
at Fenner’s wharf; and’t was he sent Dave Perkins 
off with the drum, calling all good citizens minded 
to make a bonfire of the Gaspee to gather at Sabin’s 
and get their sailing-orders.” 

The bullet-makers cheered a third time, Dick as 


60 


WHITE FIRE 


lustily as anybody. Bucklin went over to the fire¬ 
place to inspect the lithe dark youth, with the fine 
ruffles and the dashing waistcoat. 

“Who are you, my gay young fighting cock? I 
never saw you before.” 

“I was aboard the Harniah,” Dick explained 
briefly. 

“In the race with the Gaspee? Ha, then you have 
your own score to settle with the rascal!” 

“He’s staying with Quaker Mat,” said Turpin 
Smith. “But he ’s none of your non-resisters. 
He’s a red-hot patriot.” 

“I warrant you, by the looks of him! He ’s no 
mouse-coated Quaker,” laughed Bucklin. “Prefer 
bullets to brotherly love, eh? Go ahead, lad. We 
need all the musket-balls you can make. There ’s 
bound to be sharp fighting when we board the 
schooner.” 

“I wish I’d brought my gun!” exclaimed Dick. 
“But I left it at home in Narragansett.” He threw 
an envious glance at Eph Bowen’s long flint-lock. 

“You ’re no worse off than I am, comrade,” spoke 
up John Mawney. “I’ve no weapon but my lancet, 
when a lance would be more to the purpose. Never 
mind, lad, you and I ’ll stop at Cook’s wharf, where 
they keep cudgels aplenty, and arm ourselves with 
a club apiece and stones for ammunition. David 
of old brought down Goliath with a sling and a peb¬ 
ble, and with a stout stick and a cobblestone you 
ought to be a match for Bully Dudingston.” 

“Jack Mawney’s coming along with us as sur- 


THE CALL OF THE DRUM 


61 


geon,” Ephraim Bowen explained, “to mend our 
cracked heads and pick the bullets out of us. Hey, 
old Sawbones! If my head is shot off with a can¬ 
non-ball, will you nail it on again for me!” 

“No, I ’ll use it to tire back at old Dud. It’s 
hard enough,” the youthful surgeon retorted. 

“What’s to be done with old Dud, when we’ve 
brought him to his knees?” asked Turpin 
Smith. 

“Throw him overboard and let him swim for 
it,” somebody suggested. 

“Hang him from the yard-arm, and his gang o’ 
thieves with him,” growled a burly fellow, with a 
handspike for his weapon. 

“No, sir!” thundered a voice from the doorway. 
“We be patriots, not pirates, and we ’ll stain our 
hands with no dirty work.” It was Captain Joseph 
Tillinghast who spoke. He was coming in for a 
supply of bullets. “The man deserves hanging,” 
he admitted, “but we ’ll grant him his life and 
put him ashore with his crew before we fire the 
schooner. ’ ’ 

“Better blindfold ’em first,” suggested a wary 
patriot, “and blacken our faces, too. If we ’re rec¬ 
ognized, we ’re like to swing for it.” 

There was a roar of derisive laughter. “They ’ll 
never catch the whole of us! We ’re too many for 
the hangman. John Brown knows what he’s 
about.” But, more for dramatic effect than from 
fear of recognition, a few patriots did bedaub their 


62 


WHITE FIRE 


faces and disguise themselves as “blackamoors’’ in 
garb borrowed from the tavern servants. 

By and by a summons came to the bullet-makers 
to join the larger gathering in the other room 
and receive their final orders before setting out on 
their hazardous adventure. Dick went in with the 
rest, feeling that in a single hour he had grown from 
a careless boy into a man, ready to engage in a 
man’s grim work, to strike a fierce blow for liberty 
and the rights of the people. He saw ahead of him 
hard knocks, wounds, perhaps; it might be that some 
of that band of patriots would never return from 
the struggle on the schooner’s deck; but he felt that 
all through the last year he had been waiting, with¬ 
out knowing it, for such a night as this. The expe¬ 
dition was to right a grievous wrong, and to Dick 
it had the glory of a crusade. 

In that gathering he saw faces, rugged and stern, 
bronzed and weather-beaten and bold; for bluff sea- 
captains, used to lording it on their own decks, had 
been chosen to command the eight long-boats in 
which the warlike surprise-party was to steal up to 
the Gaspee, with muffled oars, under cover of the 
dark. Turpin Smith pointed out to Dick a tall man, 
who looked thoroughly the gentleman in his blue 
coat and buckled knee-breeches and his beruffled 
shirt, but looked still more the born commander, a 
leader of the type that other men would follow to 
the death. 

“That’s Cap’n Whipple. He commanded the 
privateer Game-Cock in the French War—took 


THE CALL OF THE DRUM 


63 


twenty-three prizes on one cruise! We ’re sure to 
win with old Whip o’ the Game-Cock to lead us. 
And that’s John Brown.” Turpin indicated a 
well-built man, square of shoulder, full of face, 
swarthy of complexion, and hoarse and harsh of 
voice. He had donned a white cap, which, lands¬ 
man though he was, gave him a nautical air, and 
he looked well the part to which he had been as¬ 
signed, that of second in command, with the title 
of “captain.” 

The hero of the Game-Cock, now “head sheriff,” 
delivered his final orders and put his band of vol¬ 
unteers through a rapid drill. Then, as the clock 
struck ten, came the command to cross the street 
to Fenner’s wharf, for the hour had come to em¬ 
bark. The largest long-boats that the ship¬ 
master could procure were waiting at the wharf, 
where lanterns twinkled and a knot of negro long¬ 
shoremen stood on guard. The expedition lost 
no time in putting off. Boat after boat was 
manned. 

“Come on, Turp! We’ve room for one more!” 
Joe Bucklin shouted up from Captain Hopkins’s 
boat to young Smith waiting above on the 
wharf. 

“After me quick, lad! Crowd in, too!” Turpin 
called over his shoulder to Dick, as he lowered him¬ 
self to the empty space on the last thwart. 

Dick had one foot in the boat, when its steersman 
ordered him back. Captain Hopkins would have 
no overcrowding. Feeling savagely mutinous, Dick 


64 


WHITE FIRE 


hauled himself up to the dock, to look for another 
chance. But the next boat and the next tilled up, 
and as often as he fought his way forward he was 
roughly thrust back, pushed, punched, jostled, and 
nearly tumbled into the water. He ground his teeth 
with rage and disgust, for it began to look as if the 
last boat would pull off without him. Just as he 
was resolving to plunge in and swim after the 
flotilla, obliging some boat-load to pick him up from 
sheer humanity, a hand fell on his shoulder, and, 
turning, he found John Mawney, surgeon of the 
band. 

“Come along, boy, over to Corliss’s wharf. 
Cap’n Tillinghast’s barge is down there, and I ’ll 
see they make room for you. Here, you take this 
lantern. ’ ’ 

Thankfully, acting as lantern-bearer, Dick 
tramped off with Mawney and the rest of the crew, 
led by Captain Tillinghast, to Corliss’s wharf, 
where the barge lay. There a young boatman was 
on guard, and near him a person who could hardly 
be called a fellow-watchman, for he was lying curled 
up on the dock, with his coat bundled under his head 
for a pillow. Dick nearly walked over him, and the 
lantern, shining on the sleeper’s face, caused him 
to wake up and raise himself on his elbow. He was 
a shabby object, and he looked pale and wild, as the 
light glared full in his eyes, and he saw the tall youth 
standing over him. Those startled eyes and Dick’s 
met in a stare of mutual recognition. 

“Noll!” 


THE CALL OF THE DRUM 


65 


“Hallo, Dick!” 

The awakened sleeper had so far recovered himself 
as to change his startled stare to a mocking smile. 

‘ 4 What are you doing here ? ’ ’ Dick demanded, and 
from his tone he might have been addressing the 
dust beneath his feet. 

The other ignored the inquiry. “Saw you cornin’ 
off the packet,” said he. “Where are you goin’ 
now?” 

“Where cowards like you are not wanted.” 
Without waiting to see how Noll took this com¬ 
pliment, Dick pressed on after John Mawney to the 
place assigned him in the barge. 

“Know that fellow, do you! Who is he?” asked 
Mawney. 

“Oliver Winch. He used to be around our place. 
My father took him in for a while. What’s he do¬ 
ing, loafing around here?” 

Captain Tillinghast was finding fault with the 
young boatman for allowing any stranger to loiter 
about the dock at such a time. 

“He’s doin’ no harm,” protested the guardian of 
the wharf. “He’s a poor fellow that’s down on 
his luck. I was calc’latin’ to find him a job.” 

“Make him clear out of here, whatever you do,” 
was the captain’s parting charge, before he took 
his place in the stern. 

Eager to be of service, Dick had begged for the 
privilege of pulling an oar, and Captain Tillinghast, 
having pinched his arm and found there a biceps of 
iron, had accepted the offer. Surgeon Mawney 


66 


WHITE FIRE 


took his place beside the captain. Dick was at the 
second oar. At the third was a brawny fellow who 
had blackened his face till he might have passed for 
Pompey’s brother. 

Silently, but for the soft plash of the blades, the 
barge glided from the landing and headed foi* 
Cook’s wharf, where she stopped to take on a load of 
“staves” and heavy stones. The oars dipped again, 
and, with lantern darkened, the barge shot down¬ 
stream as fast as the straining muscles of the rowers 
could send her, to overtake the other long-boats on 
their mission of destruction. Dick looked down in¬ 
to the midnight blackness of the water and up to the 
stars that alone watched the daring enterprise, and 
he thrilled with joy of the mysterious darkness—the 
stillness and secrecy before the clash of action. 
Thus silently, under the shelter of the night, his 
Algonquin forefathers had glided in their canoes on 
the bosom of the broad St. Lawrence, ready to take 
the warpath against the hostile Iroquois. Dick was 
answering the call of his blood. 


CHAPTER IV 


VENGEANCE STEALS THROUGH THE DARK 

W HO comes there ?” 

The challenge cut through the still air 
and rang far out over the sleeping water. It came 
from the mighty bulk looming blacker than the mid¬ 
night darkness. The gigantic marine monster, doz¬ 
ing by the shore with one gleaming eye open, had 
roused itself and spoken with a human voice. The 
pack of sea-wolves, hungry for their prey, heard it 
and held themselves in check, ready to bound for¬ 
ward to the attack. 

As soon as they had come within view of the tow¬ 
ering black shadow that they knew to be the Gaspee, 
Captain Whipple had ordered the avenging boats to 
form in line, and thus they had stolen along till they 
w^ere within easy hailing-distance of the stranded 
schooner. The unsuspecting Gaspee lay asleep, but 
the watch on the quarter-deck had seen the moving 
line of phantoms darker than the night itself and 
had given the alarm none too soon. 

“Who comes there?” The sentinel’s challenge 
might as well have been flung skyward up to the 
blanket of cloud now veiling the stars, for any an¬ 
swer it received. Weird silence was the only re¬ 
sponse, but from boat to boat swept a thrill like 

67 


68 


WHITE FIRE 


an electric current. Dick felt it surging through 
him as he rested on his oar. The tension was so 
great that it was almost pain. He could make out 
the form of the sentinel who hailed them, dimly il¬ 
lumined by the one dull light shining aboard the 
schooner. A moment later another figure mounted 
the starboard gunwale. The word passed from man 
to man: 4 ‘There ’s the brute himself! That’s 
Dudingston!” 

They had guessed right. It was the commander 
of the schooner, the enemy of Rhode Island, who 
took his stand by the fore-shrouds, wrapped in his 
officer’s cloak. He had sprung from his bed and 
hurried on deck, when roused by the sentinel’s 
alarm. 

“Who comes there!” Again the clear challenge 
cut through the night. It was Dudingston who 
hailed them. 

Still no answer; but from more than one boat¬ 
load there rose a shout of defiance, ending with an 
exultant “We have you now!” 

The commander hailed again; and this time the 
lion voice of Captain Whipple roared out, “I want 
to come aboard!” 

“Standoff! You can’t come aboard!” Duding¬ 
ston thundered back. “Stand off, or you will be 
fired on!” 

The answer was a fiercer roar from the hero of 
many sea-fights: “I am the sheriff of the county 
of Kent. I have got a warrant to apprehend you. 
So surrender!” 


VENGEANCE THROUGH THE DARK 69 


This challenge, reinforced by such compliments 
as the captain of the Game-Cock had been wont to 
fling about his decks when quelling a mutinous crew, 
met but a scornful response. 

“The sheriff cannot come aboard at this time 
o’ night. Advance at your peril!” 

Captain Whipple hurled back his defiance like 
a thunderclap: “I am come for the commander of 
this vessel, and have him I will, dead or alive! Men, 
spring to your oars!” 1 

A mighty cheer burst forth. Forty blades cut 
the water as one, and the boats shot forward. But 
no cannon belched forth fire and death. Before her 
hastily summoned crew could get the Gaspee’s great 
guns out at the bow ports, the avengers were clos¬ 
ing in to the attack. To Dick, throwing his whole 
strength into the work, it seemed but an instant be¬ 
fore they were beneath the schooner’s bows. 

He could see Dudingston still standing by the fore¬ 
shrouds, a pistol in one hand and a sword in the 
other. He could see the sailors beginning to swarm 
on deck, ready to dispute the right of way with 
these daring assailants, the foremost of whom were 
preparing to board the schooner. He saw the flash 
and heard the sharp crack of pistols. Dudingston 
and another beside him were firing at the nearest 
long boat, but the shots missed their mark. No 
one fell. Instead, a fellow in the lead began clam- 

i The words of Captain Whipple are historical. In quoting them 
the author has combined the reports of two participants in the 
attack. 


70 


WHITE FIRE 


bering recklessly from the rowboat up to the deck 
of the Gaspee, whose commander made a pass at 
him with his sword. 

Meanwhile, in Captain Hopkins’s boat, a man 
standing upon a thwart was leveling a musket at 
the hated lieutenant. Dick heard a loud report. 
He saw Dudingston, in the very act of striking at 
the reckless climber, reel and fall backward. Joseph 
Bucklin had shot the commander of the Gaspee with 
Ephraim Bowen’s gun! 

By the click of a musket, victory was assured. 
The attacking force boarded the schooner upon 
her starboard bow and on her quarter. While Dick 
was in fierce dispute with the oarsman of the black¬ 
ened face over a cudgel to which they both laid 
claim, John Mawney sprang from his place beside 
his captain and, pushing past the two contestants, 
stepped upon the gunwale. Seizing a rope that 
hung down from the schooner’s bows, he began haul¬ 
ing himself up to the deck, when, the cable slipping, 
he fell with a mighty splash, waist-deep into the 
water. Agile and nimble, he recovered himself in 
a flash and was the first of his boat-crew to reach 
the deck; but Dick with his rescued cudgel was a 
close second. He had heard Captain Tillinghast 
shout the order: “Two men needed to man the 
boat! You, Abe White, and you, lad, stay by your 
oars.” 

That was enough for the youngest member of the 
expedition. Stay by his oar while his comrades 


VENGEANCE THROUGH THE DARK 71 


swarmed over the gunwale of the Gaspee? Not 
though old “Whip o’ the Game-Cock” himself 
should command it! He scrambled after Mawney, 
up to the deck of the schooner, where a furious 
hand-to-hand tussle was going on back of the wind¬ 
lass. Fierce shouts, blows raining everywhere, 
bodies swaying backward and forward, or falling 
heavily to the deck, as men fought locked with each 
other in a deadly grip—all the din and confusion 
of a savage struggle in the night marked the re¬ 
sistance that the British sailors were offering to 
the overpowering onslaught. 

Springing back of the windlass, Mawney and Dick 
threw themselves into the midst of the turmoil. It 
was a fight in the dark, for the defenders of the 
Gaspee had put out their light, and so brief was the 
contest that to Dick it passed like a crazy dream. 
He was yelling like a redskin and hitting out wildly, 
right and left, with his cudgel. Once he was swept 
off his feet in the thick of the struggle and came 
down on top of a writhing heap of Jack Tars. 
Leaping up, he went at it again, as madly as ever, 
till, suddenly, it was all over, the yelling and the 
battering. The last men to board the schooner were 
bringing lanterns to the relief of their comrades in 
the dark, and in the fitful flashes he could see the 
crew in full retreat, some of them jumping down the 
hold, with John Mawney and others after them in 
hot pursuit, while on all sides lialf-dazed men were 
picking themselves up slowly from the deck. The 


72 


WHITE FIRE 


shouts of rage, of defiance, of victory, died away, 
but through the lull came a hoarse cry of protest 
and of pain: 

“Hold, there! I am shot—wounded—mortally! 
Would you strike down a dying man?” 

One of those who had fallen upon the deck raised 
himself slowly to his knees. The lantern-light shin¬ 
ing upon him showed him to be no common sailor, 
for about his shoulders was an officer’s cloak. Dick 
saw his face ghastly in the pale flare, saw the deck 
wet with his blood. It was their arch-enemy, Dud- 
ingston! 

Above him towered a burly fellow with a hand¬ 
spike. Dick recognized the man who, in Sabin’s 
kitchen, had wished to have the commander and his 
crew hanged from the yard-arm. The fellow raised 
his weapon, aiming it for the blow that should rid 
the world of “Pirate Dudingston.” Before the 
stroke could fall, Dick was upon him like a panther. 

“Shame, you coward!” 

Gripping that upraised arm, wrenching it down¬ 
ward, and giving it a twist with all his might, 
the boy with chivalry in his blood hung on; 
and the surprise of the attack caused the bully to 
loosen his hold. The handspike dropped clattering 
upon the deck. A left-handed blow from an iron 
fist fell on Dick’s own head, making him see stars; 
but still he held on, all the rage that he had felt to¬ 
ward Dudingston turning itself against this ruffian 
who could strike down a man, sorely wounded and 
helpless at his feet. The hero of the handspike 


VENGEANCE THEOUGH THE DARK 73 


would have made two of his boyish antagonist in 
bulk and brawn, but he could not fling him oft. 
Suddenly both were rolling on the deck together, 
Dick undermost. His head struck the boards hard 
as he came down, and another iron-fisted blow 
stunned him for a moment. He did not know that, 
just as sinewy fingers were fastening on his throat, 
the great bully was seized by several pairs of hands 
and hauled off from him, freeing him of a smother¬ 
ing weight and giving him a chance to breathe. 

When he opened his eyes, it was to find somebody 
bending over him, feeling him anxiously to see if 
he was much hurt, and to hear the now familiar 
voice of Turpin Smith: 

“Knocked the breath out of you, did they? Feel 
better now? That’s good. Lively tussle, wasn’t 
it? But we made quick work of those tars, and 
no heads cracked on our side, except yours.” 

Dick pulled himself up, blinking in the darkness. 

“Come on! Lay aft!” said Turpin. “They 
have Dudingston over there. Buck shot him.” 

The two comrades hurried aft to where lanterns 
twinkled and where the wounded commander was 
sitting by the cabin companionway, a plucky young 
midshipman beside him. Both were confronting an 
excited crowd headed by the “sheriff” and the “cap¬ 
tain,” bluff old Whipple of the Game-Cock and the 
redoubtable John Brown. To the proud spirit of 
Dudingston the agony of his humiliation must have' 
been worse than that of his wounds; but with his 
ship in the enemies’ hands and his own life, so he 


74 


WHITE FIEE 


feared, ebbing away, he had no course but to yield. 
Would they spare his men from harm, he asked, 
if he gave the crew orders to surrender? The 
i i sheriff ’ ’ and the ‘ ‘ captain ’’ pledged their word that 
they would. 

“Surrender, men! Further resistance is use¬ 
less.’ ’ Dudingston rallied his failing strength to 
call the command. 

The victorious mob hailed it with cheers and 
passed it on, as they dispersed to herd the sailors 
together, bind their hands to prevent further scuf¬ 
fling, hustle them into boats, and send them ashore 
to safety. The “sheriff” and the “captain,” who 
had begun by calling Dudingston a “piratical dog” 
and threatening to hang him by all the laws of 
Britain, now made haste to have him taken to his 
cabin, there to have his wounds dressed and his life 
saved. 

“Here, men, bear a hand and carry him below! 
You, boy, go ahead of ’em, with a light,” Whipple 
commanded. 

“Where’s that fellow Mawney? Why’s he not 
on hand when he’s wanted ? ’ ’ Off went John Brown 
to bawl down the hold for their surgeon. 

At Whipple’s word, Dick had seized the nearest 
lantern. Turpin Smith and Ben Page raised the 
wounded prisoner between them. With Dick in the 
lead lighting up their path, they carried Dud¬ 
ingston as gently as they could down the companion- 
way to the cabin, where they laid him on the after 
lockers. 


VENGEANCE THROUGH THE DARK 75 


By the time Dick had lighted the cabin lamp and 
Turpin had thrown a blanket around the bleeding 
victim of Buckling bullet, in came John Mawney 
with two assistants. One was Eph Bowen, who had 
lent his gun to despatch their enemy; the other was 
Joe Bucklin himself, as ready now to help in the 
work of life-saving, as before he had been to shoot 
down the nautical tyrant. Mawney tore his own 
shirt to the waistband to make dressings for the 
wound that had so nearly proved fatal, and Dick 
pulled off his neck-cloth to serve as a bandage. 
But, far from behaving like the ogre that his public 
deeds had led them to picture him, the commander of 
the Gaspee said courteously to the young surgeon, 
“Pray, sir, don’t tear your clothes; there is linen 
in that trunk. ’ ’ 

The linen found, Mawney soon had his compresses 
and bandages ready, and was dressing and binding 
the wound that would have brought death quickly but 
for his promptness and skill. Dick was ordered on 
deck to bring back the young midshipman, whose 
services were called for. Two boats were already 
filling with captured sailors, and in one of these was 
Midshipman Dickinson, his arms pinioned. Dick 
shouted his message to those in charge of the boat. 

“Hi, Marse Dick!” One of the oarsmen started 
to his feet, waving his cap in salute. 

Dick cast the lantern-light downward. “Pompey, 
you rogue! How did you get here?” 

‘ ‘ Same way you come, Marse Dick. But dey done 
treat me powerful bad! Dey won’t lemme aboard 



76 


WHITE FIRE 


de Gaspee! Dey say I gotta stay an’ mind dis 
boat. Marse Dick, make ’em lemme come aboard 
an’ see de fun!” 

Heartlessly, the steersman of the boat ordered 
Pompey to mind his oar and hold his tongue. The 
middy, however, was released. He hoisted himself 
up to the deck. 

“You dare call us pirates! Pirates yourselves!” 
burst out the defiant youngster; and Dick felt like 
clapping him on the back for his spirit, it was so 
plucky of him to cast their own words in their teeth, 
as he stood there defenseless, one against a throng. 

Dick hurried him down to the cabin, and by and 
by had to serve as lantern-bearer again, guiding 
Smith and Page as they carried the wounded lieu¬ 
tenant up to the deck, to be lowered into a boat, 
rowed ashore, and landed somewhere far away from 
his doomed vessel. Turpin and Dick stood together 
at the rail, watching, while the long-boat, with Dud- 
ingston and as many of his captured crew as could 
be crowded in with him, pulled off from the schooner. 

“Old Dud was pretty grateful to Mawney, was n’t 
he 1 ” said Turpin. ‘ 4 Gave him a silver stock-buckle 
for a keepsake! Tried to give him a gold one, but 
Jack wouldn’t accept it.” 

Dick turned away to hunt for the cudgel that he 
had lost in fighting the man with the handspike. 
Over near the windlass he heard an indignant voice 
raised in loud protest, and for the first time in his 
life the sound of a rich Irish brogue greeted his 
ears. 


VENGEANCE THROUGH THE DARK 77 

“An’ what do ye haythen red Injuns mane by 
routin’ us men o’ the king’s navy out of our bunks 
an’ breakin’ our heads for us, let alone shootin’ the 
liftinant ! 9 9 

Captain Tillinghast’s bow oarsman, Simeon 01- 
ney, was binding the hands of a sturdy young son 
of Erin, whose shoulder another patriot held in a 
firm grip. 

“Did we break your head?” asked Dick. “Well, 
we Ve a surgeon aboard to mend it for you.” 

“Hold still, there, Jack!” Olney commanded, for 
the Irish Tar was showing himself refractory. 

“Ye haythen savage, ye ’ll plaize to remimber me 
name is Mike!” the prisoner retorted. “Oi’d bash 
the whole lot o’ ye, if Oi was feelin’ mesilf! But 
all the brains Oi have in me head is layin’ scattered 
on the deck!” 

“Cheer up, Mike! I ’ll pick up your brains for 
you,” said Dick, and raised the lantern higher to 
see the extent of the damage done to the Irishman’s 
cranium. The poor fellow had a bad wound in the 
head. Blood was still streaming down his face. 

“It took half a dozen of us to bring him to order,” 
explained Olney. ‘ ‘ The first time we bound him he 
worked his hands free and gave us the slip. And he 
put up such a fight when we found him again, we 
had to handle him pretty roughly. He can stand 
more banging over the head than anybody I ever 
saw! Now I want to patch him up before we heave 
him into the boat. Have you a handkerchief, or any 
kind of a rag about you?” 


78 


WHITE FIRE 


Ransacking his pockets, Dick brought out nothing 
more serviceable than a crimson rosette thrust 
through with a silver arrow. Miss Cynthia 
Hazard’s favor! But he had seen John Mawney 
tear his own shirt to make bandages for Dudingston. 
Dick in his turn tore the fine ruffles off his best shirt- 
front and folded them into a thick wad. After this, 
there was nothing left with which to bind on the 
dressing. Ruthlessly he tore the crimson rosette 
apart. It pulled out into a band of ribbon. While 
Olney held the compress to the wound, Dick bound 
it in place with the sacred treasure. The ribbon 
was too short to allow him to tie a firm knot, but 
luckily the silver arrow was really a long clasp-pin. 
He fastened the ends of the bandage with it, pinning 
them tight. And thus was Sweet Cynthia’s favor, 
the cherished prize awarded by her fair hand, of¬ 
fered up in sacrifice! 

‘‘ Thank ye kindly, sorr! Oi’m feelin’ me own 
man again now!” said Mike, on whom the gentle¬ 
manly ruffles and elegant rosette had made an im¬ 
pression. “ ’T is the handsome bandage Oi have, 
sure! And if they don’t jostle me there’s hope 
me head ’ll hold together till the marnin’.” 

“Anything more I can do for you, Mike?” asked 
Dick, proud of his own surgery. 

“Faith, sorr, if ye gintlemen would be plaized to 
loosen me flippers for a bit, and let me go down to 
the foe’si’ to fetch me bundle, Oi ’d be obliged to 
ye. ’Tis worse than spillin’ me brains to lose me 
whole year’s savin’s, an’ all the trinkets Oi was 


VENGEANCE THROUGH THE DARK 79 

afther bringin’ back to me swaleheart, if Oi iwer 
see her purty face again—an’ the locket wid her 
hair, the saints bless her! ’’ 

“No, no, my man, we can’t let you give us the 
slip a second time,” Olney objected. “You ’re too 
hard a hitter when your fists are free. Into the boat 
with you! We’ve no time to fool with your bun¬ 
dle.” 

“Ochone, poor Molly!” Mike heaved a sigh as 
he thought of his disappointed sweetheart. 

“Never mind, Mike. I ’ll fish down the foe’si’ 
for you and bring you your property, if I can find 
it, ” Dick promised. Having just yielded up his own 
dearest relic, he had a fellow-feeling for the Irish¬ 
man and his Molly. 

“Thank ’ee, sorr! Ye ’ll foind it hid in me bunk; 
that is, unless yer band o’ tommy hawkin’ haythens 
have stole it. Oi was overhaulin’ me plunder to¬ 
night, an’ wint to slape wid it alongside me. First 
bunk i’ the foe’si’, sorr, an’ St. Pathrick bless 
ye!” 

Olney laughed at Dick for his reckless promise. 
“Man, you ’re a fool! You ’ll never find it in all 
the clutter down there.” But as Mike’s captors 
marched their prisoner toward the rail Dick with his 
lantern disappeared down the hold. 

He made his way to the forecastle, nearly choking 
in the foul air, and found the sailors’ quarters lit¬ 
tered with their belongings, bunks broken down, and 
everything in wild disorder, for the avenging Rhode 
Islanders had swept through the place like a whirl- 


80 


WHITE FIRE 


wind. Mike’s property was not in any bunk; but 
Dick groped and burrowed about in the debris till 
at last in a corner he found a sail-cloth bundle, well 
trampled upon, but giving forth a chinking sound, 
suggestive of coin, as he held it up and shook it. 
Wasting no more time in that stifling region, he 
hurried back to the deck and the blessed fresh air, 
only to find that both boat-loads of sailors had put 
off, and he was left heir to the vanished Mike’s 
worldly goods! 

Dawn was near, and Captain Whipple was giving 
orders for most of his followers to embark, leaving 
one boat for the leaders of the expedition and a few 
picked men, who were to set the Gaspee afire. 

“Come along, lad! You belong with me,” called 
Captain Tillinghast, catching sight of Dick. But 
his youngest oarsman drew back. 

“Over the side with you; into the boat!” shouted 
Captain Whipple, noticing his hesitation. 

Dick was a rebellious rogue by nature. He had 
joined the expedition for the express purpose of 
helping to set the schooner ablaze, and he was not 
going to be balked of that joy, not while there was 
a refuge to hide in! The “sheriff,” having shouted 
at him, turned away to attend to other business, and 
Dick slipped out of sight again, inside the hatchway. 
There he listened and waited, and, looking through 
the opening, saw the gray dawn stealing over the 
sky. 

When the boats had put off and the forward deck 
seemed cleared of observers, he ventured out of his 


VENGEANCE THROUGH THE DARK 81 

hiding-place, but before he could find a nook, not too 
conspicuous, near the bows, Captain Whipple re¬ 
appeared. The eagle eye of the “head sheriff” fell 
upon Dick. 

“You rascal, what are you doing here?” he 
thundered, as he strode up to the culprit. “You 
mutinous young dog, didn’t you hear me order 
you into the boat?” 

“Yes, sir—but—” 

“Do you know the penalty for disobeying orders, 
sirrah?” roared Captain Whipple. He was armed 
with a handspike, and he shook it threateningly, but 
Dick faced his irate commander boldly, there being 
nothing else to do. 

“I was aboard the Hannah to-day, sir. After 
being chased by the Gaspee, I thought I’d earned 
the right to help burn her up.” 

“You’ve earned the right to a taste o’ the cat- 
o’-nine-tails! And there’s one in the cabin for 
rascals like you,” Captain Whipple warned the 
rebel. “Here, drop that bundle and take your lan¬ 
tern. Lay aft, you dog! Lively, now; and help us 
build the bonfire, or we ’ll heave you overboard!” 

Instead of being made to feel the lash of the cat- 
o ’-nine-tails as he deserved, the young mutineer was 
set to work with the other men selected for the 
honor, gathering all the rubbish and combustible 
material that could be found, and piling it in the 
cabin and wherever a blaze, once started, would 
most easily spread. Applying the burning wicks 
of their lanterns to these heaps of inflammable stuff, 


82 


WHITE FIRE 


the destroyers soon had their bonfire kindled. 
When at last they considered their work done and 
the fire burning to their satisfaction, they made for 
the deck and for their own boat, Dick at the last 
moment remembering and rescuing the Irish sailor’s 
bundle that he had dropped at Whipple’s command. 
It was high time to leave if they were to save 
their own lives and not perish with the schooner! 
But they were not to be the only witnesses of that 
conflagration. More than one of the long-boats that 
had put off before the blaze was started had returned 
in time to watch the smoke rising from the Gaspee’s 
deck. 

Daylight was upon them as the avengers rowed 
rapidly away to a safe distance; it was a morning 
gray and cloudy, sullen as the faces of the captive 
crew when they had left their vessel never to re¬ 
turn. But the smoke rising and spreading from the 
schooner grew into a blacker cloud than ever low¬ 
ered thunderously from the sky. The heart of that 
cloud was a fiery furnace, from which tongues of 
flame shot aloft, devouring the rigging. The cloud 
of smoke became a cloud of fire. A glare, fiercer 
than the reddest sunrise ever reflected, glowed on the 
water. A deafening roar! Another and another! 
The schooner’s eight guns were going off. At mid¬ 
night so powerless to defend her, they were in action 
now, as the flames struck them. The Gaspee, in her 
dying moments, seemed bent on vengeance, striving 
to hurl destruction at her escaping foes. 

A yet more terrible explosion! Dick felt the long- 


VENGEANCE THROUGH THE DARK 83 


boat rock, as he rested on his oar and gazed spell¬ 
bound. He saw a flaming mass go shooting skyward 
—splintered timbers and rigging all ablaze—then 
fall, to quench its burning in the bay. The fire had 
eaten its way to the magazine, where the powder for 
the Gaspee’s guns was stored. The marine mon¬ 
ster had burst asunder! 



CHAPTER V 


DICK IS CALLED TO ACCOUNT 

N ANCY! Come here! Look! There’s thy 
brother coining up the street, with Pompey! 
He must have been out all night!” 

At Deborah’s call, Nancy sprang out of bed and 
joined the white-gowned, night-capped little Quaker¬ 
ess at the window. The two sisters had risen ahead 
of their guest, to make ready to attend their six 
o ’clock school; and the younger, dallying a moment 
to peep at the outer world, in its morning fresh¬ 
ness, had sighted two figures nearing the house, 
plainly those of Dick and his Black Shadow. 

41 Come away from the window, Debby! He might 
see thee in thy night-cap!” Ruth warned her; and 
Deborah fled, but Nancy waited and watched behind 
the curtains, while Dick, with Pompey at his heels, 
turned in at the Fairchilds’ gate. 

Half-way up the path to the front door the two 
returned wanderers stopped, as if considering how 
to enter without rousing the household. Both 
looked up, in an anxious, guilty way, at the girls’ 
window. The curtains flew apart like morning mist, 
and Nancy’s face popped out like the sun, amid a 
red-gold glory! She leaned from the window and 

84 


DICK IS CALLED TO ACCOUNT 85 


shook a rebuking forefinger at Dick. Her lips 
framed a long-drawn “Oh!” of disapproval, a syl¬ 
lable that conveyed the message, “Won’t you get 
a lecture, if Papa finds you out!” 

He signaled back a warning to her to keep silent; 
then he called so softly that she guessed rather than 
caught the words, “Come down and let me in!” 

Nancy nodded. Then, with her long camlet cloak 
over her night-dress and her feet in bedroom moc¬ 
casins, she flew down-stairs. She fumbled with the 
locks and bolts of the front door. Open at last! 
She flung it wide and, confronting Dick, demanded 
with parental severity, “My son, where have you 
been?” 

“Anybody else awake?” he asked her in a half¬ 
whisper. 

She forgot to reply; so great was her dismay at 
sight of his changed appearance! His best suit 
and embroidered waistcoat were shockingly stained 
and smeared, as if he had been spending the night 
in a ditch. He had not a shred of ruffle left on his 
shirt. His fine linen neck-cloth was gone, and his 
hat, too. And there was a great purple bruise on 
his forehead! 

“Mercy sakes, Dick! Whatever—” 

“Sh—sh! Don’t yell so! Do you want to wake 
the whole house?” 

“I ’ll stand in the middle of the hall and screech 
at the top of my lungs if you don’t tell me what ’s 
happened to you, Dick Monteith!” 

“Can’t stop to tell you now. I must clean up be- 


86 


WHITE FIRE 


fore anybody sees me. Now don’t hang on to me 
and make a fuss. ’ ’ 

“I will! I ’ll hang on and scream and wake up 
everybody, if you don’t tell me this minute what’s 
happened!” 

“You ’ll do no such thing.” 

“I will, too! Oh, Dick, what’s that on your 
vest—and your sleeve? It looks like—why, it’s 
blood /” 

“Well, what of it? It’s not mine, anyhow. It r s 
—some other fellow’s.” 

“Whose? Oh, Dick, you’ve been in a fight! 
Your beautiful best suit’s all ruined, and you’ve a 
bump on your head as big as a pumpkin!” 

“Nan, can’t you hold your tongue and let a fel¬ 
low get up-stairs? We had a—a kind of a tussle; 
that was all.” 

“Who? You and Turp Smith and Eph Bowen?” 

“What do you know about Turp Smith and Eph 
Bowen?” 

“I know you were out with them last night; Mat¬ 
thew said so. He said you went off with Turp. 
You were all celebrating because the Gaspee got 
stranded.” 

Here Pompey slipped past them and skulked off 
to the kitchen, carrying Sailor Mike’s bundle 
wrapped in his jacket. 

“Did Mat say anything more about me?” asked 
Dick. 

“He said you’d be back when the fun was over. 
Did it really last all night? Ah, Dick, tell me all 



L 


“Mercy sakes, Dick! Whatever—” 




* 
































i • . 


, - 























































































' 





















DICK IS CALLED TO ACCOUNT 87 

about it! ’ ’ She clung to his arm when he would have 
mounted the stairs. 

“You little pest, you Ye worse than a mosquito! 
Do you want all the Fairchilds to see me looking 
like this?” 

“I just wish Sweet Cynthia could see you!” 
Nancy retorted. Then she grew plaintive. “I took 
all the trouble to come down-stairs and let you in. 
But now, if you Ye going to be hateful, I declare I 
wish I ’d left you locked out!” 

Dick stopped with one foot on the lowest step and 
faced her squarely. “See here, Nan, I know it 
looks queer, my being out all night and coming back 
like this—” 

“It certainly does ” she agreed emphatically. 

“But I can’t stop to explain—just now—and 
you ’ll have to hold your tongue about me.” 

“I ’ll hold my tongue, of course. But I don’t 
need to. Do you think people won’t find you out, 
with your best clothes spoiled, and that great purple 
lump on your head ? Oh, Dick you ’re a sight! ’ ’ 

They stole up-stairs together. “I ’ll wait till I’m 
dressed, but if you don’t tell me then, I ’ll find it 
out from Pompey,” Nancy warned him. Then, 
seized with sudden fear, she gripped his arm again. 
“There wasn’t anybody killed, was there?” 

“Of course not, you Scared-for-Nothing! Go 
Back to your room.” With this curt‘farewell, Dick 
shot across the hall to Matthew’s door. 

When he came down to breakfast, there was no 
fault to be found with the fresh ruffled shirt that 


88 


WHITE FIRE 


had taken the place of his torn one, nor yet with the 
sleekness of his hair, plastered down in front in a 
rather odd style, to be sure, to hide as much as pos¬ 
sible of the purple decoration on his brow. His 
holiday suit, however, was still in a sorry plight, 
and his embroidered waistcoat, rent as well as 
stained, was a pitiful ruin. He presented himself 
at table with a fine air of unconcern, but he could 
feel the glances of all the assembled eyes hitting 
him like shots from so many batteries. 

His father’s gaze pierced him through and 
through, as the colonel said in withering tone, “You 
are late, my son.” 

Dick apologized lamely enough, but Mother Fair- 
child forgave him his tardiness. “I hope thee 
rested well last night,” said the gentle Quaker dame. 
“Why, bless thee! What ails thy forehead? Did 
thee get a blow? Thee must come to me after break¬ 
fast, and I will make thee a vinegar poultice.” 

“Good morning, Friend Dick,” was John Fair¬ 
child’s salute. “I was in the midst of telling thy 
father how I learned from Jonathan the meaning of 
last night’s drumming. Ah—ahem! I trust they 
did not use the drumsticks on thy head by mistake ? ’ ’ 

Poor Dick felt Iris temperature rising rapidly. It 
reached its maximum when, in a lull in the conversa¬ 
tion, little Dorcas, sitting with Samuel and David 
at a side-table, made her voice heard. 

6 ‘ He’s got his pretty clo ’es all spotty! ’ ’ she piped. 
“When I get my clo’es spotty, I have to go stand 
in the corner with my face to the wall.” 


DICK IS CALLED TO ACCOUNT 89 

“I know how his clo’es got spoiled!” announced 
David, who had slipped out by the side door at an 
early hour to dig worms. “He went a-fishin’ this 
mornin’! I saw him an’ Pompey cornin’ home while 
thee was asleep. Nancy was lettin’ ’em in. But 
they did n’t have any fish! ’ ’ 

“David! Dorcas! Children should be seen and 
not heard,” chided their mother. “Leave the room 
instantly, both of ye. Take your porridge-bowls 
and finish your breakfast on the door-step.” 

As the small transgressors retired, in came Jona¬ 
than, who had left the house before breakfast, and 
who returned looking sinfully exultant over the 
new*s he brought. 

“The Gaspee ’ll never trouble us more! She’s 
burned to the water’s edge! And Dudingston’s 
wounded! They attacked the schooner at midnight 
—boarded her, shot down the lieutenant, took her 
crew prisoner—bound ’em and put ’em ashore, old 
Dud and all! Then they set the Gaspee afire. I fell 
in with a man from Pawtuxit just now, and I had 
the whole story from him. He'd come from Joseph 
Rhoades’ house; that’s where Dudingston is now. 
He was looking for a doctor for him, so I took him 
over to Dr. Sterling’s. He said Dudingston and 
some of his men were landed on the point of Paw¬ 
tuxit, and the Rhoades family took ’em in.” 

Then followed a graphic account of the attack on 
the schooner, as reported by the indignant British 
tars to the men from Joseph Rhoades’ house and 
retold to Jonathan. 


90 


WHITE FIRE 


“They made a thorough work of it, those fel¬ 
lows !” he ended. “A little more of that sort of 
medicine for our wrongs and we ’ll have the coast 
free!” 

“Jonathan! Jonathan!” cried his father. “Is 
thee so carnally minded as to rejoice over that deed? 
It may bring some of thy fellow-townsmen to the 
gallows! ’ ’ 

The carnally minded Jonathan looked across the 
table. “Hey, Dick! What’s happened to thy 
head? Thee looks as if thee had been in the Gaspee 
fight thyself!” 

Dick’s only answer was a short laugh. Breakfast 
over, he made haste to slip off with Matthew, but 
the colonel detained his son, and Mother Fairchild, 
hers. 

The Quaker lady was overheard asking anxiously, 
“Matthew, Dick came home with thee last night, 
did he not?” And Matthew was to be seen appar¬ 
ently trying to read a fitting answer in the carpet. 

Said Colonel Monteith to his unruly heir, “A word 
with you, my son.” 

“Yes, sir.” 

“You went out with Matthew last night. Did you 
not come back with him?” 

“No, sir.” 

“I told you not to be gone long. Why did you 
disobey orders?” 

Dick looked frankly surprised. “I didn’t hear 
you, sir.” 


DICK IS CALLED TO ACCOUNT 91 


“Your ears lose a good deal, Dick. But you know 
well enough what my standing orders are—not to 
be out late. What time did you get back?” 

Dick smiled apologetically. “Why, sir, I forgot 
to look at the clock.” 

“Go up to my room, sirrah, and wait there till I 
come.” 

“Yes, sir.” 

Dick retired dutifully, and his father turned in the 
hall to see Nancy peeping from the parlor door¬ 
way, her face full of coaxing appeal, and Pompey 
waiting at a respectful distance. Pompey ventured 
to approach. 

“Marster”—his tone was persuasive—“Marse 
Dick shorely am de good young gen’leman! He 
come home real early, jes' like you toP him to, 
sah.” 

“You young rogue, you were seen coming back 
yourself, with Master Dick, before breakfast this 
morning.” 

Pompey grinned and nodded assent. “Yas, Mar¬ 
ster, yas, sah. Dat's wot I mean, sah. Marse Dick 
come home real early in de mornin', sah. Five 
o'clock am early for de quality, sah.” 

The colonel scowled ferociously. “Be off with 
you, you good-for-nothing! Go and make yourself 
useful in the kitchen! Well, Dawtie, what is it?” 

Nancy slipped her arm through her father's. 
“Papa, aren't you glad the wicked old Gaspee is 
burned up, so we sha'n't be chased going home? 


92 


WHITE FIEE 


Oh, you sweetest Papa!” She squeezed the arm 
to which she clung. “ Just whisper in my ear, and 
I ’ll promise not to tell a soul. Would n’t you have 
loved to set that ship afire, when you were a boy 
like Dick?” 

“When I was a laddie like Dick,” said the colo¬ 
nel, “I was a graceless rascal! But that’s neither 
here nor there. Be oft with you, too, you coaxing 
pussy, for I must e’en have it out with young Master 
Firebrand. I do verily believe his head is packed 
with gunpowder instead of brains!” 

Nancy was not ready to be off. “But how can 
Dick help being a firebrand?” she argued. “He 
has to keep the White Fire burning, you know. 
Papa, isn’t that the strangest motto on his sword? 
What do you suppose the White Fire means?” 

If only she could divert her father from mount¬ 
ing the stairs till his wrath had cooled! The White 
Fire was certainly a fruitful topic for long discus¬ 
sion, a mystery never yet solved. When the young 
French officer, Captain de Laval, lay mortally 
wounded on the plains of Abraham, he had sent 
back his gold-hilted sword to his little son Armand, 
so soon to become Dick Monteith. “He must keep 
the White Fire burning,” the dying lips had mur¬ 
mured. “He must be faithful to our watchword.” 
And Dick had often unsheathed that sword and pon¬ 
dered in secret over the motto engraved on its 
blade: 


CANDENS-YSQYE -ARDE AT-IGNIS 


DICK IS CALLED TO ACCOUNT 93 


“Let the White Fire ever be blazing’*; thus the 
scholarly Colonel Monteith had translated the Latin 
words, and he had asked himself what the mysterious 
flame might signify. Courage? Loftiness of soul? 
Ambition to win knightly fame ? But now his spirit 
was sorely tried by the behavior of that vexatious 
young inheritor of the sword and motto, and he an¬ 
swered tartly: 

“I do not know what it means. But if the White 
Fire’s the thing that’s inspiring that gunpowder- 
ous rascal up-stairs, it must be the very most pesti¬ 
lent and pernicious flame ever kindled!” 

“Oh-h-h! Papa-a-a/” Nancy squeezed his arm 
again, this time in vehement protest. “White Fire 
could never be bad fire. Red Fire might. Red Fire 
sounds pestilent and pur-nishus, whatever that 
means; wicked, I suppose. But White Fire would 
have to be good. * * 

“Why, lassie?” 

“Why, because it ’s white. Bad things can’t be 
white. I think White Fire means heavenly fire. 
And I’ve seen it, too! Haven’t you, Papa—in the 
early morning, when the sun makes a great 
path of white light on the ocean? Then you can 
watch the White Fire burning on the sea! And 
when the sun is at the top of the sky, and you look 
up at it, and have to shut your eyes, for just one 
second before you close them you can see the White 
Fire! It hurts; it blinds you! But it’s beautiful! ” 

“So you think it’s a heavenly flame, eh?” said 
Colonel Monteith. Then he relapsed into Scotch, 


94 


WHITE FIRE 


a playful habit of his, when talking to his Dawtie 
or to himself. “Ye may he richt, ye wheedling 
lassie, but I tell ye there’s naething havenly aboot 
the spark that ’s set fire to that ne’er-do-weel 
Dick!” 

Suddenly he recollected his duty as a parent. 
“You disobedient little baggage, whilly-whawing in 
my ear! Did you not hear me telling you to be off 
with you? Run, now!” 

Nancy ran, throwing him back a kiss. 

As that dour Scotchman, James Stuart Monteith, 
paced the hall, considering what stern measures to 
take, he murmured to himself: 

“Ay, Jamie, mon, ye were made of burning gun¬ 
powder, too, when ye were a laddie; and ’t is the 
remembrance of yourself, as ye were at his age, that 
makes ye such a soft-hearted fool in handling that 
rascal, Dick! But brace up, mon; and harrden your 
hearrt!” 

The lame colonel mounted the stairs, his cane hit¬ 
ting each tread with a determined tap, as if his 
heart was hardening at every step. But Nancy, who 
had been lurking nearer than he knew, soliloquized, 
as she viewed him from the foot of the staircase; 
“He called himself ‘Jamie, mon’! That’s a good 
sign. ’ ’ 

Up-stairs he found Dick waiting for him. Their 
eyes met, and they looked each other steadily in 
the face. Then came the inquisition. 

“Now, my son, are you ready to tell me why you 


DICK IS CALLED TO ACCOUNT 95 


disobeyed orders last evening, and how you spent 
last night ?” 

“No, sir, I am not ready.’’ 

“Not ready!” the colonel echoed in a voice of 
thunder. Fiery Scot that he was, his temper as well 
as his heart was of the warmest, but he controlled 
his rising wrath and surveyed his adopted son 
critically from head to foot. 

“Not ready, eh? Then let me tell you, young 
man, that your looks are answer enough. You stand 
before me a disgraceful object. Your whole ap¬ 
pearance convicts you of being implicated in some 
lawless deed. And a lawless deed was done last 
night. A crime was committed against King 
George’s navy. My son, were you one of that band 
of rowdies that destroyed his Majesty’s vessel?” 

“I must decline to answer, sir.” 

Dick’s father gripped his cane, as if strongly 
tempted to lift and apply it with all the vigor of his 
arm. “You impudent young rascal! You refuse 
to answer me?” 

“I cannot answer you, sir, because I’ve pledged 
my word of honor not to say where I was last 
night. ’ ’ 

Colonel Monteith smiled ironically. “If you have 
pledged your word of honor, there’s nothing more 
to be said. A gentleman must keep his word, though 
it be given to a mob of ruffians. Dick, I do not ask 
you to act dishonorably, but your silence convicts 
you. The evidences are that you took part in a 


96 


WHITE FIRE 


lawless attack upon a vessel of his Majesty’s navy. 
Do you realize that such an outrage upon a British 
war-vessel is certain to he considered an act of trea¬ 
son?” 

“The Gaspee was committing outrages on us, sir!” 
Dick flashed forth. “It was a patriotic duty to put 
her out of the way.” 

“Patriotic tomfoolery!” retorted his father. 
“You young firebrand, do you know what Squire 
Winfield told me yesterday on the way to Newport? 
The very day before he sailed for America, the king 
made death the penalty for destroying so much as 
an oar from a cutter’s boat, or an empty cask be¬ 
longing to the royal navy! Then what about de¬ 
stroying an entire schooner?” 

“Patriots worth the name must be ready to risk 
their lives,” Dick argued stubbornly. 

“Aye, and if the trouble between our mother-coun¬ 
try and her colonies grows worse and worse, as it 
threatens to do, you ’re like to have chances enough 
to risk your life, in the next few years; that is, if 
you don’t get your neck into the hangman’s rope 
first, and mine, too, with your harebrained per¬ 
formances!” 

Dick looked as if he had heard a trumpet-call. 
“Father! Do you mean—you think it will come to 
warp” 

“I think if mobs like that of last night undertake 
to right one set of wrongs by committing another, 
his Majesty will send an army over here to keep 
order.” 


DICK IS CALLED TO ACCOUNT 


97 


“I’d like to see him try it!” Dick muttered be¬ 
tween his teeth, and his father came near agreeing, 
“So would I!” 

Saving himself from that slip, the colonel substi¬ 
tuted : 1 i The best way for you to show your patriot¬ 
ism at present, Dick, is not by founding societies of 
addle-pated lads like yourself, who, calling them¬ 
selves Brothers of Freedom, become brothers of re¬ 
bellion and rowdy-dow, till you ’re expelled from 
school and packed home to me in disgrace; nor yet 
by making bonfires of the king’s ships, till you ’re 
hanged for it; but by proving yourself a law-abiding 
citizen of this colony, and leaving it to older and 
wiser heads than yours to win redress for our 
grievances by lawful means.” 

“But will they ever win redress?” Dick demanded 
passionately. “Father, I’ve heard you say your¬ 
self to Governor Wanton that all this endless appeal¬ 
ing to the king leads to nothing. And if we ’re to 
do no more than bleat like sheep, and must all be as 
meek as a lot of Quakers, while they crush our trade, 
claim the right to tax us, and interfere—” 

“I suppose, Dick,” the colonel cut in, “you think 
7 interfere when I make laws that I expect you to 
keep.” 

“Why, er—n-no, sir—you ’re my father.” 

“I look upon myself in that light,” Colonel Mom 
teith agreed, “and upon you as my son, considering 
I’ve adopted you. So does England look upon her 
colonies as sons. She considers she has a right to 
impose some laws on them.” 


98 


WHITE FIRE 


“But, sir, her laws are tyrannous, and yours are 
not.” 

“No? Dick, each time I’ve had to give you a 
new law to keep, one would have thought from your 
glum looks that I was imposing the stamp tax upon 
you! Some of England’s laws are tyrannous and 
unjust enough, I grant you; but,” he added with a 
a laugh, “when they are not to our liking, we break 
them. Upon my word, poor old Mother Britannia 
must be as sore perplexed to know how to deal with 
these sons of hers, three thousand miles away from 
her, as I am at this moment to know what to do with 
you, you young hothead! If you were a bit younger 
I’d give you a sound thrashing! But now that 
you ’re nearly as tall as I am, confound you—” 

“Well, Father, here’s your cane. Break it across 
my shoulders, and I ’ll cut you a new one, sir. I 
deserve no end of thrashings for all the trouble I’ve 
made you this year!” 

“You speak the truth there, my boy,” said the 
colonel heartily. He could have recited a long list 
of grievances against his adopted son and heir. 
The list had reached its climax when Dick had caused 
himself to be expelled from his school in Boston, 
where he and his “Brothers of Freedom” had mani¬ 
fested their zeal for liberty altogether too uproari¬ 
ously. And now the founder of the brotherhood had 
capped that climax by helping to reduce the Gaspee 
to ashes! 

“But I ’ll not insult so good a friend as this gold¬ 
headed cane of mine,” declared the offended Scotch- 


DICK IS CALLED TO ACCOUNT 99 


man, “by wasting it on a rebellious puppy like 
you. To lessen your chances of swinging from a 
gibbet, however, back you go to Narragansett this 
very day. The Providence packet sails for Newport 
this morning, and you sail with her. You ’ll find 
our old friend Captain Terryberry at Newport; he’s 
home again, I hear. I ’ll give you a letter to him 
asking him to keep you overnight and ship you across 
the bay to-morrow. And when you get home stay 
there. You ’re to take a hand at the farm work 
and not to set foot out of bounds till I come. Do you 
understand?” The colonel’s voice was stern and 
peremptory. 

“Yes, sir,” glumly. 

“You know very well, Dick, that a part of my busi¬ 
ness here was to enter you at Rhode Island College. 
You have lost your chance of going there. I can¬ 
not trust you in Providence.” 

Dick looked as if he thought this a lucky escape. 

“What I shall do with you will be settled later,” 
said his father. “I shall stay here a day or two 
longer myself to see what steps the authorities take 
to catch and punish the mob that burned the 
Gaspee.” 

“Will Governor Wanton take it up?” asked Dick. 

“The king and Parliament will take it up.” 

Dick looked as defiant as if he saw his Britannic 
Majesty making ready to take vengeance. He 
clenched his fist, and suddenly his dark eyes shot 
fire. 

“If King George finds us hard to handle, let him 


> •# > 


100 


WHITE FIRE 


send his armies over here!” he cried. “We ’ll show 
him what Americans are made of! We ’ll fight till 
we’ve won onr freedom, or till every patriot falls!” 

“Laddie, are ye gone daft? Where did yon drink 
in such treasonous ideas?” 

“But have n’t we a right to be free, to go our own 
way and govern ourselves ? ’ ’ cried the heated young 
patriot. “ ’T was not king nor Parliament that 
made New England what she is, but the men that 
dared conquer a new world for themselves in the 
wilderness, where they could be free men and not 
slaves?” 

“Eh, well, I see you ’re bound to run your neck 
into the hangman’s halter,” said his father. “And 
I see I must thresh this matter out with you, once 
for all. Laddie, you’ve inherited one good trait 
from your Indian forebears: you can hold your 
tongue, when you’ve a mind to. And when you’ve 
made up your mind to be silent, though we were to 
roast you alive over a slow fire, nobody could wring 
a word from you, you graven image! Now, then, 
give me your promise not to repeat what I say, and 
I ’ll tell you my own opinion about all the trouble 
that’s brewing.” 

Dick pledged his word to keep silent as a red¬ 
skin. 

“All the past year,” said his father, “you’ve 
been fretting against feeling my hand on the rein, 
impatient to be your own master. And soon enough 
you will be. Before we know it you ’ll have reached 
full manhood, and my authority will cease. And 


DICK IS CALLED TO ACCOUNT 101 


yon ’ll be going your own way, Dick. It may be a 
very different way from mine. But suppose, now, 
when you ’re a man full-grown, I should treat you 
as a school-boy still, order you about, hold you in 
check, flog you for being headstrong! What would 
happen then? Ay, I see your answer in your face. 
You’d not stand it an instant. You’d take the bit 
in your teeth and bolt for freedom. Or if I had 
the power to hold you in subjection, what would be¬ 
come of your love for me? It would turn to hate. 

“Lad, it’s studying you that makes me see how 
it is with England and her colonies. Over here, 
we ’re stepping into manhood, as Mother England 
will soon be finding out. In the past, she has ruled 
us with but a slack hand; and now, just as she has 
made up her mind to give us a taste of real parental 
discipline, she finds her neglected nursery babes 
grown into strapping sons, ready and able to play 
a man’s part in the world. The colonies have come 
of age, Dick, and can be treated as children no 
longer.” 

“Father! You mean—the time has come to 
throw off the yoke and be a free country? Oh, sir, 
I always knew you were a patriot at heart!” 

“Wait, wait, you red-hot follower of Sam 
Adams! ’ ’ cried the colonel. “ I’m not riding at such 
a break-neck pace as that! I love the mother-coun¬ 
try, for Bonny Scotland is a part of her. ’T is my 
hope and prayer that we may never need to snap the 
bond that makes us one kingdom. But Britain must 
let her full-grown sons ‘gang their ain gait,’ and live 


102 


WHITE FIRE 


their own lives, as I must soon let you, laddie. And 
yet”—the father spoke slowly and thoughtfully, and 
a softer look came into his eyes—“I’m thinking 
we ’ll have need of each other, you and I, in the 
stormy times ahead. We ’ll need to stand shoulder 
to shoulder, as man and man. And it may be that 
we shall understand each other better then than 
sometimes we do now.” 

Dick was silent, but his right hand met his father’s 
in a grasp of comradeship. 

“And may it be the same between Britain and her 
colonies!” the colonel said. “May they come to a 
better understanding, and they will, if only fools on 
both sides of the water don’t wreck all chances of 
peace! If only our good mother learns the wise way 
before it’s too late!” 

“But will she?” Dick demanded, meaning: “I 
hope she won’t! I want an excuse to break free.” 
French, with a dash of Indian, as he was, he in¬ 
herited no love for “Mother Britannia.” 

The colonel sighed heavily. “Bad counsels pre¬ 
vail these days, and King George—but, then, he’s 
no Englishman, nor yet a Scotchman, so that’s some 
excuse for his blindness. Ay, laddie, the parting 
may have to come, and if it does it will be with 
violence and bloodshed, and a long fierce struggle, 
with brother hating brother. But God grant that 
in the end we shall be friends again, and Britain and 
America stand shoulder to shoulder in the fight for 
justice and true liberty. For, look you, Dick, kings 
and parliaments may blunder, but the love of free- 



DICK IS CALLED TO ACCOUNT 103 


dom is part of the very bones and marrow of Eng¬ 
lishmen. ’ ’ 

Here Colonel Monteith suddenly awoke to the fact 
that he had been shaking hands with his rebel son 
and discoursing on liberty instead of hardening his 
heart. 

“Off with you,” he ordered sharply, “and pack 
up your luggage, for the Hannah sails at ten 
o’clock; and if you hear any talk of burned schoon¬ 
ers aboard, keep your mouth shut ” 


\ 


CHAPTER VI 


THE GOVERNOR SPEAKS HIS MIND 

W HEN Nancy saw Dick again, he was equipped 
for a journey and attended by Pompey, who 
was to carry his young master’s luggage to the 
boat. That luggage contained, by the way, an Irish 
sailor’s bundle of treasure. 

1 ‘Dick, are you going home!” 

“Yes,” with a wearied yawn, “it ’s livelier there 
than here. ’ ’ 

The youth with the air of sublime indifference, 
who had assisted at the funeral rites of the Gaspee, 
did not look much in need of consolation, but, though 
the colonel was approaching, Nancy found time to 
whisper: “Never mind if Papa is angry. 1 y m 
pleased with you. Why, Dick, this is the first useful 
thing you ever did in your life!” 

Not every member of Captain Whipple’s audacious 
band was as secretive as Dick. That afternoon, 
when Colonel Monteith took his Nancy down to see 
the ‘‘ Great Bridge,” they found a young man parad¬ 
ing himself upon it, with Lieutenant Dudingston’s 
gold-laced beaver hat on his head, recounting the 
story of the attack to an enthusiastic audience, and 
thereby most surely endangering his own neck, un- 

104 


THE GOVERNOR, SPEAKS HIS MIND 105 


less his listeners should prove better than he at keep¬ 
ing a secret. On the bridge, in the market-place, in 
every shop, in every home, the burning of the 
Gaspee was the one topic, and on all sides was heard 
the question, “What will Governor Wanton say?” 
Three days later they found out. 

The colonel’s affairs detained him in Providence 
till Saturday. By that time his own sloop, the Mer¬ 
maid , repaired at last, was waiting at the wharf to 
carry him back to Narragansett. Before sailing 
home Nancy set out with Ruth and Deborah on an 
errand that took the sisters through the busiest part 
of the town. They were passing the court-house 
just as the gadabout Pompey disentangled himself 
from a crowd gathered in front of the building. 
Catching sight of Nancy, he hurried to meet her, and 
the rolling of his eyes was a sure indication of some 
fresh excitement. 

“Oh, Missy, dey done post up a big sign on de 
court-house wall! It ’s somep’n ’bout de Gaspee! 
Dey say de gub’nor done write it. Please, Missy, 
come an’ read it for me. I ain’t no good at readin’, 
myself.” 

“If you hadn’t been such a silly dunce, Pompey, 
whenever I tried to teach you, you wouldn’t have 
to wait for me to read it for you, now,” said Nancy 
severely, as her hopeless pupil conducted the three 
girls through the crowd. 

Sure enough, the sign posted on the court-house 
wall was a proclamation by “the Honorable Joseph 
Wanton, Esq., Governor General and Commander in 


106 


WHITE FIEE 


Chief over the English Colony of Rhode Island and 
Providence Plantations, in New England, in 
America.’’ It was headed by the royal coat of 
arms, and it announced that: 

Whereas, on Tuesday, the 9th instant, in the night, a 
number of people unknown, boarded His Majesty’s armed 
schooner, the Gaspee, as she lay aground on a point of 
land, called Namquit, a little to the south of Pawtuxit, 
in the colony aforesaid, who dangerously wounded William 
Dudingston, the commander, & by force took him, with 
all his people, put them into boats, & landed them near 
Pawtuxit, & afterwards set fire to the said schooner, 
whereby she was totally destroyed, 

Governor Wanton therefore commanded all the 
officers of the colony, both civil and military, 

to exert themselves with the utmost vigilance, to discover 
& apprehend the persons guilty of the aforesaid atrocious 
crime, that they may be brought to condign punish¬ 
ment. 

Poor Pompey trembled as he listened. “Wot am 
condime punishment?” he faltered. 

Nancy turned to a man who was also reading the 
proclamation. “What does ‘condign punishment’ 
mean?” she asked in a frightened voice. 

“Wal, now, little gal,” answered the townsman 
addressed, “seein’ they call gettin’ rid of that var¬ 
mint of a gunboat an ‘atrocious crime,’ I guess it 
means a rope around your neck.” 

Pompey groaned aloud. Nancy turned pale, but 
she read on bravely to the end: 


THE GOVERNOR SPEAKS HIS MIND 107 


And I do hereby offer a reward of one hundred pounds 
sterling money of Great Britain to any person or persons, 
who shall discover the perpetrators of the said villainy, 
to be paid immediately upon the conviction of any one or 
more of them. 

And the several sheriffs in the said colony, are hereby 
required forthwith to cause this proclamation to be posted 
up in the most public places in each of the towns in their 
respective counties. 

Given under my hand and seal at arms, at Newport, 
this 12th day of June, in the 12th year of the reign of His 
Most Sacred Majesty, George the Third, by the grace of 
God, King of Great Britain, and so forth. 

Anno Dom. 1772. 

J. Wanton. 

Affixed to this was the governor’s seal with the 
anchor of hope upon it. And poor Nancy had need 
of an anchor of hope, just then. She felt as if some 
one had struck her a blow. To her, that whole awe¬ 
inspiring proclamation was directed against 
one single person—Dick. Oh, how could 
Governor Wanton, the kind old friend who had 
petted and spoiled her, have written a message so 
cruel! 

Turning away from that hateful sign, she found 
herself face to face with a young man who had al¬ 
ready studied the proclamation and was sauntering 
up to read it a second time. At sight of him, Nancy 
started back. He smiled, as if it amused him to 
have given her a shock of surprise. 

‘‘ Well, Nan,” said he familiarly, “how do you 


108 


WHITE FIRE 


like that sign? And where’s that brother of yours? 
Did he read it, too, and run away?” 

Nancy drew herself np with offended dignity. 
“How dare yon call a yonng lady like me 4 Nan’! 
When you’ve been dismissed from our service, 
too!” 

If her unwelcome acquaintance was at all taken 
aback by this public reproof, he hid his feelings by 
a sneering laugh. 

“Huh! I guess Dick thought it was time to clear 
out— ’ ’ he began. 

Then he fell back a step or two, for here was 
Pompey confronting him and shaking a black 
fist. 

“You low-down, thievin’ weasel, you! How dare 
you look my li’l lady in de face! You snake in de 
grass, wot tells lies ’bout honest black folks—” 

Here Pompey had to dodge a furious blow aimed 
at his head; and there would have been a fist fight 
on the spot had not the man who had interpreted 
“condign” to Nancy thrust his own tall frame be¬ 
tween the two combatants. 

“Quit that!” he ordered them. “If you want to 
fight, don’t choose the court-house steps.” 

Nancy stamped an imperious little foot. “That 
man had no right to speak to me, or even to look at 
me!” she declared. 

“That so? Wal, I guess he won’t do it again in 
a hurry, you put him down so sudden and so 
haughty-like! Better run along home, now. I 
won’t let him bother you no more.” 


THE GOVERNOR SPEAKS HIS MIND 109 

Nancy answered the friendly stranger with a 
gracious little nod and “Thank you.” Then, with 
her head proudly erect, and an angry flush in her 
cheeks, she went on her way, with Ruth and Debby, 
Pompey growling out his resentment like an en¬ 
raged watch-dog, as he followed at the girls’ heels. 

“Who is that rude fellow that called thee ‘Nan’?” 
asked Ruth. 

“Oliver Winch”—Nancy spoke the name with 
loathing—'“and he’s a sneak and a coward and a 
cheat! Oh dear! I never dreamt he was here in 
Providence!” 

Then she related Oliver’s story. He was a roll¬ 
ing stone, and he had rolled as far as the Monteith 
estate, where his pathetic tale of hard luck had won 
the colonel’s ready sympathy. The kind-hearted 
Scotchman had given him employment, and the 
young man had won high favor at first. 

“Everybody liked him,” said Nancy, “except 
our mastiff, Caesar. Caesar’s a wonderful dog! 
He can tell a sneak as quick as he can snap at a 
fly!” 

Colonel Monteith, it turned out, had begun to find 
that small sums of money were vanishing mysteri¬ 
ously. Who could the thief be? Oliver Winch had 
laid the blame on Pompey, and so cleverly that his 
master was almost convinced of the boy’s guilt. 
Then one night when the colonel was away, Dick, 
returning with his dusky “Shadow” from a hunt¬ 
ing-excursion, had seen a light in his father’s win¬ 
dow. Pompey had run for a ladder, by means of 


110 


WHITE FIRE 


which the two had then mounted to the window¬ 
sill. Peering into the room, Dick had discovered 
Oliver fumbling with the colonel’s desk, as if try¬ 
ing to open a certain secret drawer where money 
was kept. 

“Then Dick jumped in through the window, and 
Pompey after him,” said Nancy, “and they both 
went for the thief! Oliver was furious, but he was 
scared out of his wits, too. He dared not fight 
them both. He pretended he’d heard robbers, and 
had gone to the desk to see whether they *d stolen 
anything; but of course the only robber was him¬ 
self. Then when Papa came home Oliver had to 
leave, but he wouldn’t confess, and of course he 
hates Dick for finding him out.” 

“He’s a very wicked fellow! He deserves to be 
in jail!” declared Ruth. “Thee looks frightened, 
Nancy. Is thee afraid he ’ll hurt Dick?” 

“Of course not! Dick could thrash him any 
day!” Nancy returned with scorn, but Oliver’s 
words haunted her: “I guess Dick thought he M 
better clear out.” 

“I must speak to Pompey,” she said, and left her 
friends abruptly. 

“Pompey, did you know Oliver was here? Have 
you seen him around before?” she asked her faith¬ 
ful attendant, when they had turned into a quiet 
street. 

“No, Missy, but Marse Dick seen him.” 

“When?” 

Pompey shifted from one foot to the other. 


THE GOVERNOR SPEAKS HIS MIND 111 

“Now, Missy, Marse Dick toP me to keep my mouf 
shet .’ 9 

“But, Pompey, you don’t need to keep your 
mouth shut to me, because I know just as well as if 
I’d gone along, too, that Master Dick helped burn 
the Gaspee . And he ’ll get condign punishment if 
anybody finds out and tells about him!” 

Pompey groaned. “Bofe on us, Missy! Dey 
gwine cotch me an’ gimme condime, too!” 

“You silly! They won’t bother their heads about 
you. It’s Master Dick who’s in danger. Tell me, 
where did he see Oliver?” 

“Down on de wharf, when he was puttin’ off in 
de boat, fur to go burn de Gaspee 

“Did Oliver guess where Master Dick was 
going?” 

“Shore, Missy, shore; he know well ’nough. 
Don’ a rattler know whar to bite, when you step on 
his tail? Marse Dick most walk over him, layin’ 
dar, coiled up like a snake. Course Noll know 
whar he gwine, after all dat paradin’ an’ drum- 
min ’. ’ ’ 

“And now he’s reading that sign!” cried Nancy. 
“If he dares go and tell—” 

“No, no, Missy, he won’t tell, no more ’n a mud- 
eel ’s gwine to jump down de froat of a whale! 
Don’ he know, ef de cunnel gits angry, he ’ll put 
him in jail for thievin’? Don’ you be skeered, 
Missy. But you ain’t gwine tell de cunnel wot I 
tol’ you ’bout Mars Dick, is you?” 

“Why, Pompey, I ’ll have to.” 


112 


WHITE FIRE 


Pompey shook his head. “Marse Dick, he ain’t 
nebber tol’ de cunnel whar he been dat night; an’ 
de cnnnel, he don’ wanter be tol’.” 

“But my father knows, just the same,” argued 
Nancy. “He guessed it, just as I did.” 

“Yas, Missy, yas’m; but guessin’ ain’t de same 
as bein’ toV. Ef de gub’nor say to him, ‘Whar wuz 
yore son, de night dey bum de Gas'peeV de cunnel, 
he wanter say, ‘My son nebber tol’ me whar he wuz 
dat night; nor der ain’t nobody tol’ me whar he 
wuz; but de place whar he spends most nights am 
his own bed.’ ” 

“Ye-e-e-es,” Nancy agreed slowly, “I suppose 
that’s it. My father really knows, but he doesn’t 
care to know it too hard.” 

She decided to follow the advice of the African 
philosopher, and, meeting her father on the Fair¬ 
childs’ door-step, she told him only that she had 
seen Oliver Winch after reading that terrible proc¬ 
lamation and that he had had the impertinence to 
address her as “Nan”! The colonel called Oliver 
an insolent dog, but had weightier matters at the 
moment to disturb him. He had been down to the 
wharf to view the Mermaid, and on the way he had 
read those fateful words on the court-house wall. 

He said cheerfully; however: “Dawtie, we ’re to 
have company on the homeward voyage. Whom 
d’ye think I met just now at the door of Sabin’s 
Inn? Squire Winfield with his stepson, Philip! 
It turns out he came up to Pawtuxit yesterday to 
pay a visit of sympathy to Lieutenant Dudingston 


THE GOVERNOR SPEAKS HIS MIND 113 


and seek to soothe his outraged feelings. The squire 
was planning to go home to-day by the packet, hut 
I invited him to join us aboard the Mermaid. ’T is 
a pity he has only his laddie with him, and not his 
lassie, too, to be a companion for mine.” 

“Oh, Phil will do quite as well,’’ Nancy replied 
contentedly. “I think I like him better than Phyllis. 
He’s just as much fun to tease, and just as pretty; 
but he’s not afraid of sunburning his complexion, 
and he doesn’t tip his head on one side and say, 
‘La, my dear!’ all the time.” 

“Phyllis Templeton shows herself a young lady 
of perfect breeding,” said the colonel impressively. 
“I wish you to take her graceful manners and de¬ 
portment for your pattern.” 

“Oh, la!” murmured Nancy. 

The Mermaid was gliding past Namquit Point. 
She was a jaunty craft, with a charming, fishy-tailed 
lady of the sea, shining with fresh paint, for her 
figurehead; and a mournful contrast to her saucy 
trimness was the charred ruin that had brought 
scores of visitors down to that now famous spit of 
land during the week. A part of the fire-scathed 
hull was all that remained of the once proud Gaspee, 
the scourge of the Rhode Island coast. 

Philip Templeton and Nancy Monteith viewed the 
aftermath of the fire with equal interest but with 
a wide difference of opinion. 

“See there!” cried the English boy, in a burst 
of loyal indignation. ‘ ‘ That ’s all that’s left of her, 


114 


WHITE FIRE 


one of the finest schooners in the navy—burnt to 
the water’s edge! Think of those blackguards dar- 
mg—” 

“Yes, just think of their daring!” echoed Nancy. 
“Weren’t they glorious and brave! I’m so glad 
they burnt the old thing to cinders! ’ ’ 

Phil flushed to the roots of his curly hair and grew 
rigid with righteous wrath. “You ’re glad? You 
call it glorious to burn a vessel of the royal navy? 
That—-that’s treason!” 

“Oh, no, it’s not,” she answered sweetly. “It’s 
only patriotism. Don’t you know the difference? 
I’m glad they did it, and I wish I’d been there and 
helped. I’d have taken a tinder-box with me and 
lighted the first spark! ’ ’ 

Phil stared at her, as if his blue eyes would pop 
out of his head. “ ’Pon my word, what kind of a 
girl are you?” 

Nancy considered. “I really don’t know. I 
think I’m several kinds. Papa says I have as 
many sides as I have names.” 

“But girls ought not to talk like that, don’t you 
know?” Phil remonstrated. 

Nancy tilted up her chin. “Maybe English girls 
shouldn’t, but I’m not English, you see. I’d love 
to have helped set the Gaspee afire. But I would n’t 
have let them hurt poor old Dud. If I’d been there 
I’d have protected him.” 

“Protected him! How could a girl protect any¬ 
body?” Phil inquired scornfully, Nancy’s nickname 
for the lieutenant adding to his indignation. 


THE GOVERNOR SPEAKS HIS MIND 115 


“Oh, I’d have stood in front of him, with my 
arms outstretched, like this, and cried, ‘ Before you 
shoot him, you ’ll have to slay me first!’ And it’s 
not polite to kill ladies, and Rhode Islanders are 
gentlemen, so they’d have had to say, ‘La, my 
dear!’ and stop. I don’t like old Dud a bit. I de¬ 
test him! But I’m very sorry for him, because he 
is wounded. Papa’s been to see him, too, and Mrs. 
Fairchild sent him a bottle of her elderberry wine. 
Everybody’s so kind to him now, I should think 
he’d feel ashamed of the way he’s behaved.” 

“They’d better be a little decent after nearly mur¬ 
dering him, the villains! the double-dyed scoun¬ 
drels!” declared Phil. 

“If you can’t say politer things about them,” said 
Nancy, “I ’ll go and sit on the tip of the bowsprit, 
and if you try to come, too, you ’ll spill me into the 
water and drown me. Then Papa ’ll call you a 
villain. ’ ’ 

Phil fairly snorted with derision. “I’d like to 
see any girl climb out on a bowsprit!” 

“Would you? Then watch me —some day, when 
Dick’s with us, instead of Papa.” 

Phil felt tempted to challenge her to some daring 
feat for the purpose of plunging to her rescue, but 
his father and hers were too near; so he held out 
the olive-branch instead. 

“Well, one of those fellows wasn’t such a black¬ 
guard,” he conceded generously. “He saved Dud- 
ingston’s life and had the breath knocked out of 
him, doing it.” Phil looked hard at Nancy as he 


116 


WHITE FIRE 


spoke. “ Midshipman Dickinson took me around 
among the crew, and I picked up no end of stories. 
I heard all about the attack—how they were boarded 
by that rascally mob—” 

“Of heroes !” exclaimed Nancy. 

“Of blackguards,” growled Phil, “and how they 
were bound and put into boats, and sent ashore—” 
“But wasn’t that better than letting them stay 
and get burned up?” she suggested. 

“Umph—well—yes,” Phil had to admit, “but the 
whole thing was shameful—outrageous—” 

“And splendid!” added Nancy. “But what about 
the person who saved old Dud’s life?” 

“I heard about him from one of the sailors, an 
Irishman they called Mike O’Connor,” Phil an¬ 
swered, still eying her curiously. “Mike had his 
head bandaged up. He said he was knocked down 
in the fight, and so was the lieutenant, after he’d 
been shot, too! Mike was picking himself up, when 
he heard Dudingston call out, and saw a great hulk¬ 
ing brute going to brain him with a handspike! ’ ’ 
“Oh, how cruel! how wicked!” broke in Nancy. 
“But he heard one of the mob yell, ‘Shame, you 
coward!’ and he saw a fellow spring at the scoundrel 
and tackle him before he could strike! He held on 
like a bulldog, Mike said, though he was n’t a man 
yet, and the beast he was grappling with was as 
strong as an ox! They went down together, roll¬ 
ing on the deck. Mike had a good look at the fellow, 
after they’d hauled the brute off; but just then 
along came some of the mob to truss up the sailors, 


THE GOVERNOR SPEAKS HIS MIND 117 


and Mike liad to fight ’em, and got his head smashed. 
But afterwards, when the rascals were piling the 
men into the boats, up comes that fellow again, that 
saved Dudingston, and patches up Mike’s head for 
him. He tore the ruffles off his shirt for a bandage, 
and he tied it on with—I ’ll show you what. ’ ’ 

Phil glanced cautiously around him, and then, 
carefully keeping his back turned to his elders, drew 
from his pocket a stained crimson ribbon and a long 
silver pin in the form of an arrow. Nancy caught 
her breath in a sharp little gasp. Why, oh, why 
had she adorned Mark Antony, the peacock, with 
Sweet Cynthia’s token! Why had Phyllis insisted 
on seeing that decoration, so that Dick had had to 
display it, under the very eyes of Governor Wan¬ 
ton? 

‘ * Don’t be scared,” Phil whispered, “I’ve not 
shown it even to Father. Mike said the fellow had 
a red thing like a rose, and when he pulled it apart 
it made this; and he pinned it on with the arrow.” 
The honest blue eyes held a mischievous twinkle, as 
Phil observed: “Your brother had a red rosette 
thing with an arrow stuck in it the day we went sail¬ 
ing with the governor.” 

“ Give it to me!” Almost fiercely Nancy snatched 
the telltale pin and ribbon from Phil and hid them 
under her cloak. 

He chuckled. “I thought so! That’s why I 
made Mike hand ’em over, when Dickinson’s back 
was turned. I gave him half a crown for ’em,” he 
explained with a lordly air. “We mustn’t let the 


118 WHITE FIRE 

Admiralty get hold of ’em. They’d use ’em for 
evidence.” 

“For evidence?” Nancy repeated, frightened and 
wondering. 

“Yes, against Dick. They’ve got to catch the 
rascals that did the work, you know, and bring them 
to trial; and Father says they ’ll use every bit of 
evidence against them they can find. Why, this rib* 
bon and arrow would be enough to send Dick to 
prison and the gallows. Oh, now, don’t be scared! 
I’ve settled things so they won’t get him, you see. 
Mike doesn’t want him arrested either, because 
Dick patched up his head and saved the lieutenant’s 
life.” 

“Did you tell him who it was that bound up his 
head?” asked poor, terrified Nancy. 

“Do you think I’d be such a jackass?” 

Cautiously, Nancy brought the pieces of convict¬ 
ing evidence out from their hiding-place. “I’m 
going to throw them overboard,” she announced, 
“so nobody will ever find them.” 

“Wait,” said Phil, taking out his jack-knife, “I ’ll 
cut up the ribbon first.” 

He slashed away. Then, leaning over the gun¬ 
wale, Nancy strewed the water with the remnants 
of the rosette, and they floated like a trail of red 
rose-petals. Next she flung the silver arrow as far 
as she could hurl it. 

“Good for you!” cried Phil. “You throw like a 
boy! I didn’t know girls could do that.” 

Nancy laughed triumphantly in her joy at being 


THE GOVERNOR SPEAKS HIS MIND 119 


rid of that condemning evidence. “Poor Dick! 
Now he ’s lost Sweet Cynthia’s rosette and arrow 
for ever! But then he gave them away, himself, to 
that sailor. He never expected to get them back 
again.” She drew a deep breath of relief and 
thankfulness. “You’ve saved Dick from condign 
punishment,” she said, with a little quiver in her 
grateful voice. 

“Oh, well, he saved Phyllis’s puppy first—and 
Dudingston,” replied Phil, with a truly British air 
of careless unconcern. 


CHAPTER VII 


BURIED TREASURE 

C ONDIGN punishment’s coming to me now!” 

groaned Dick, two days after Nancy’s 
return in the Mermaid. “I’m to read Greek with 
Phil’s tutor till Father settles what to do with me 
next! Hang it all! Whew! it’s hot!” 

Dejectedly, he threw himself down on the grass 
under an apple-tree, to rest after a lively tussle with 
the refractory young horses he was trying to train, 
and Caesar, the mastiff, applied a sympathetic nose 
to his master’s heated upturned face. 

“ You don’t know when you ’re lucky! I’d rather 
study Greek than spin all day long!” Nancy called 
down from her favorite crotch in the apple-tree. 

“Much spinning you do in a day!” jeered the un¬ 
willing student. 

Beyond the orchard, in the middle of which he 
was enjoying his last precious moments of idleness, 
lay the pastures where the colonel ’si flocks and herds 
browsed happily, and on each side were hay-fields 
and grain-fields, where men mostly of Pompey’s 
race were at work. In those old colonial days, be¬ 
fore revolution swept the land, life on the Nar- 
ragansett shore was surprisingly like life down 

south in Virginia, and the Monteith estate 

120 


BURIED TREASURE 


121 


was really a northern plantation. It had once been 
the Rowland estate, but James Stuart Monteith, the 
young Scottish exile, w r ho had found a safe shelter 
in the Rhode Island colony, had loved and wooed 
and won Mistress Faith Rowland, only daughter of 
one of those farmer princes who kept open house 
and enjoyed fox-hunting and horse-racing, for all 
the world like the fine gentlemen of Virginia. 
“Jamie” Monteith had lost his ancestral lands in 
Bonny Scotland, because his family had espoused 
the cause of the royal Stuarts, whom England had 
at last banished from the throne. But by the time 
he had risen to be a colonel of militia and one of 
the leading men of the province he had found him¬ 
self lord of a colonial manor, farming richer lands 
than those he had lost. The only heirs to this 
goodly heritage were the boy on the grass and the 
girl in the apple-tree, and Dick was being trained 
to take his father’s place in years to come. 

“But what Greek has to do with raising sheep 
and cows and Narragansett pacers,” he yawned, 
“7— don’t — see !” 

The classic reading under the tutor from England 
began, only to be interrupted by an unexpected holi¬ 
day, heralded by Phil, who dashed over early one 
morning with news for his fellow-sufferer. 

“We’re rid of Greek and old Tompkins for the 
day! Midshipman Dickinson’s coming to see us! 
Phyllis is hauling out all her best ribbons and fol- 
derols, she’s so pleased to think she ’ll meet a 
middie, ha, ha! But I’m going to take him horse- 


122 


WHITE FIRE 


back riding. Glad to have you come, too, old Chief, 
but maybe you ’d better steer clear of him. He 
might remember you.” 

“Yes,” Dick agreed, “I’d better keep out of 
the way. It wouldn’t do for him to guess that 
you ’re in league with one of the mob that burned 
the Gaspee! I ’ll go for a sail before Father thinks 
up any more work for me to do.” 

“I ’ll go, too, while Mama Lisette’s back is 
turned!” Nancy chimed in. “It would be wicked 
to waste this perfect day over an old spinning- 
wheel ! ’ ’ 

“It’s pretty good of Phil to stand by me like 
this, when he’s on the side of old Dud and fresh 
from England!” Dick exclaimed, as the two hur¬ 
riedly made their escape. “I ’ll stand by him if 
he ever gets his neck in danger. ’ ’ 

They sailed away in the Saucebox , and did not 
return to port till the gnawings of hunger, and 
recollections of promised clierry-tarts, became too 
much for them. They landed, finishing a wordy 
battle, full of scathing sarcasms and mutual vitriolic 
compliments, overhearing which, anybody would 
have taken them for mortal enemies; but as a matter 
of fact they were in high good humor with the sunny, 
breezy day, with themselves, and with each other. 
Nancy had the last word, as usual. 

“My stars! Whatever in the world made Papa 
adopt a creature like youV’ she demanded of Dick. 
“If he’d asked my advice, I could have told him 
when I was one year old just how you’d turn out! ’ ’ 


BURIED TREASURE 


123 


Then she discovered that Dick was not even lis¬ 
tening! He had sighted a stranger trespassing on 
their private beach, and the figure advancing with 
a rolling gait was evidently a sailor! He continued 
to roll toward them, and they saw that his head was 
swathed in a bandage. Otherwise, he looked in very 
good health and as if he was thoroughly enjoying 
life. 

Dick saluted him as he came alongside: “Hallo, 
Jacky !” 

The sailor grinned. His face was formed by 
nature for a happy one; his nose tilted merrily 
skyward, his eyes were as blue as the sea and as 
twinkly as the sunlight on the waves, and his wide 
and genial mouth could easily have taken in a fair¬ 
sized apple, whole, without any inconvenience to his 
generous jaws. 

“The top o’ the mamin’ to ye, sorr, an’ me lady !” 
the sailor responded, touching his cap. “Oi hope 
ye *11 parrdon me for trespassin’ on yer bache. 
Oi ’m afther cruisin’ too far down this way, Oi ’m 
thinkin ’!” 

Dick was a good deal taken aback by the sight of 
that bandaged brow and the sound of that Irish 
brogue, but he declared hospitably, “This beach is 
free to Jack ashore any day.” Then he asked, 
“But where *s your boat?” 

“Me boat? She’s up yonder.” The man jerked 
his thumb northward. “Most of her is nowhere at 
all, an’ the rest of her is burnt to a cinder!” 

“That’s a pity!” sympathized Dick. 


124 


WHITE FIRE 


“ ’Dade an’ it is, sorr! Sure, the Gaspee was 
the f oinest schooner in King Jarge’s navy! 
Oehone! An’ nothin’ left to remimber her by but 
her picture on me arrum!” He gazed tenderly at 
the blue war-vessel, all sails set, tattooed on his 
brawny forearm. 

“So you ’re from the Gaspee /” exclaimed Dick, 
in feigned surprise, but wondering if the sailor rec¬ 
ognized him, as he did the sailor. “And who 
cracked your cocoanut for you?” 

“Faith, sorr, we had a surproise-party one 
night! ’T was the night the Gaspee wint up in 
smoke. Some frindly gintlemen called on us, un- 
expected-loike, an’ one of ’em give me a love- 
pat.” 

Dick laughed. “Well, I hope your head’s mend¬ 
ing, after that love-pat.” 

“It is thot, sorr, an’ me heart, too! Sure, Oi 
had the homesickness knocked clane out o’ me, that 
night. ’T was loike a bit of owld Ireland in fair- 
toime, to have the gossoons come crackin’ us over 
the head with their shillalahs! ’T is the happy 
heart Oi’ve carried ivver since.” 

“Well, I’m glad you feel better for your broken 
head,” said Dick, laughing. “But why are you 
cruising around here?” 

“The midshipman, sorr, Mr. Dickinson—he’s 
afther visitin’ the squire; and Oi sailed along wid 
him to pay me respects to young Master Timple- 
ton, in return for his frindly interest in me the day 
they come callin’ on the liftinant. They ’re out 


BURIED TREASURE 125 

ridm’ now, sorr; so Oi started for a stroll along 
the bache.” 

“And, now yon 're here, what can I do for you, 
my man?” asked Dick. 

“Faith, sorr, Oi'd be much obloiged to ye if ye 
could give me a bit of information. There's a mat¬ 
ter been troublin' me iwer since the night o' the 
surproise-party.'' 

“And what's the trouble? Out with it!” 

“Why, sorr, after that love-pat with the shillalah 
opened a port-hole in the starboard side o' me head, 
up comes a young gintleman—a very foin young 
gintleman—an' calks up the leak for me. Sure an' 
'twas the stylish dressin' he put on me head, all 
ribbons an' laces, till Oi says to mesilf: ‘Oi'm 
not mesilf at all, at all! Oi'm the Earl o' Limerick, 
if not the Duke o' Killamey!' Then, says he, ‘Is 
there anything more Oi can do for ye, Mike?’ And 
Oi passed the remark that Oi left me bundle in the 
foe'si', when Oi jined the happy gatherin' on deck. 
So down he goes below to fetch it for me. But 
while he was gone they dropped me overboard into 
the long-boat, wid me flippers bound, me an' the 
midshipman, an' a lot of us Jack Tars; an' they 
landed us on a bache far away, where, lookin' 
back, we could* see the Gaspee wrapped in flames, 
wid her guns all talkin' at once! Sure, 't was the 
sad death she died, but 'twas the foin wake she 
had! Now, sorr, if ye or anybody could give me 
news o' that young gintleman to relave me anxious 
moind—" 


126 


WHITE FIRE 


Nancy, trying to read the twinkle in those Irish 
blue eyes, pinched Dick’s arm violently. 

“Ye wouldn’t be afther knowin’ his name, 
sorr?” ventured Mike. 

Dick frowned thoughtfully. Nancy swallowed a 
hysterical giggle as he turned to her with the in¬ 
quiry: “Who could it have been, Nan? Can you 
think?” 

Very truthfully, she replied, “It certainly was n’t 
Phil Templeton.” 

Mike heaved a sigh. “Sure, then, if nobody can 
tell me his name, good-by to him and me bundle, 
too! An’ good-by to all me savin’s an’ the neck¬ 
lace Oi bought for me Mollie!” 

“Who’s Mollie?” asked Nancy. 

“Me swateheart, miss, an’ the purtiest colleen 
in Ireland! Oehone! Ochone! ’T is the bad luck 
kapes cornin’ to poor Michael O’Connor!” 

“Well, Mike,” said Dick, “if you were to dig up 
some treasure buried by a pirate, that would be 
pretty good luck, wouldn’t it?” 

“Arrah, that it would, sorr!” Mike agreed. 

“All aboard, then! I ’ll take you up to Skull- 
and-Cross-Bones Point. There’s a whole pirate 
hoard of gold and silver buried there, they say; I 
bet this boat of mine against that cutlass of yours 
that we ’ll find some treasure if we dig deep enough.” 

Nancy stared at Dick, between laughter and dis¬ 
may. “You crazy boy! You ’ll lose your darling 
boat forever, for you ’ll have to keep your word, 
and you ’ll not find a single gold piece, nor a silver 


BURIED TREASURE 


127 


one either, not if yon dig down to China! Have n’t 
you and Pompey dug all around the cove a hundred 
times, for nothing?” 

“We ’ll find treasure this time,” declared the 
reckless captain of the Saucebox . He winked mys¬ 
teriously and drew her aside. 

“Dick, how dare you?” she scolded, when they 
were out of ear-shot. “Don’t you see that man 
guesses you ’re the one that tied the red ribbon 
round his head?” 

“What if he does?” 

“He ’ll tell!” 

“Not if I make him love me like a brother. 
That’s what I’m trying to do, and you ’ll have to 
help. You run up to the house, and get them to 
put me up a lunch for two. And send Pompey 
down here with a spade.” 

“Dick! You ’re not really going to dig for 
treasure?” 

“Of course we are, and find it, too. Now, see 
here, Nan. While we ’re gone, you take that bag 
that we carry apples in, and stuff it with things to 
eat—all the goodies you can find. Put in a cherry- 
tart ! Only leave room enough to stow the treasure 
we bring back.” 

Nancy sped away to carry out his commands with 
unusual obedience, but not before he had whispered 
something in her ear. 

By the time the Saucebox was returning from 
Skull-and-Cross-Bones Point, Nancy had foraged 


128 


WHITE FIRE 


successfully in store-room and pantry; and the ap¬ 
ple sack had grown heavier and heavier. Then she 
had plundered her own possessions. She had 
selected a string of coral beads that Captain Terry- 
berry had brought her from one of his voyages, and 
a dainty little lace cap, which, perched on a girlish 
head, would make the owner quite irresistible. 
These she had packed in her green silk work-bag, 
and she had stowed the offering—a queer one for a 
sailor—on top of the cherry-tart. She was sitting 
on a rock, very well pleased with herself, when the 
Saucebox put into port. 

Michael O’Connor stepped ashore, grinning from 
one ear to the other, and holding aloft a very dirty 
sail-cloth bundle. 

“Your purty boat is 'safe!” he announced. 
i 1 ’T was himself won the bet! Arrah, but ’t was 
the grand hoard we found! And would ye belave 
me, me lady? The poirate captain that buried it 
and marked a skull and cross-bones on the stone 
above it, sure, he had me own taste in jewelry!” 

Opening his bundle, he brought out a string of 
silver filigree beads. ‘ 4 The very moral o ’ the neck¬ 
lace Oi bought for Mollie O’Hara!” he declared. 
‘ ‘ Sure, the poirate must have had a swateheart, too, 
wid hair loike Mollie’s, black as a raven, an’ foin 
as silk! Look at thot, now!” Mike exhibited a 
cheap locket, containing a tress of jet-black hair. 
“But, sure, Blackbeard, or Cross-Bones, or whativ- 
ver the poirate gintleman’s name was, he must have 
been a gin’rous fella, an’ handed out Spanish gold 


BURIED TREASURE 


129 


wid a free hand to his crew; for all the coin we 
found buried there was jist the sum o’ me own 
savin’s! Ain’t it remarkable, now? An’, sure, his 
bundle is the very twin o’ me own!” 

Then they all burst out laughing, and Pompey, 
who was there to see the fun, rolled on the sand in 
glee. He had done the digging when his young 
master had buried a certain bundle on the shore of 
Skull-and-Cross-Bones Point not many days before. 

“But there’s more treasure buried right here, by 
this rock,” said Nancy, and she made Mike hunt in 
a small cave. 

He hauled out the sack of good things, and peeped 
inside. “Blessings on your swate, purty face, me 
lady, and on the angel heart of ye! If ye had lived 
on salt pork an’ hardtack from year’s end to year’s 
end, ye’d know how good thim swaties looks to a 
Jack Tar! But what’s this? A ditty-bag, sure!” 
He lifted out the green silk work-bag. 

“For Mollie,” Nancy explained, with an anxious 
glance at the sailor’s tarry fingers. “If I were 
you, I wouldn’t look at what’s inside it till I’d 
washed my hands. There’s plenty of room for your 
bundle in that sack, too. You can hide it under the 
apples. It’s too dirty for the cake and doughnuts. ’ ’ 

“Well, Mike,” said Dick, when the grateful sailor 
was preparing to leave, with his bulky sack slung 
over his shoulder, “if you ever tire of the navy, 
steer for this port, and we ’ll make you first mate 
of the Mermaid 


130 


WHITE FIRE 


i ‘Thank ye kindly, sorr! Oi HI remimber,” 
promised Michael O’Connor. “Sure, ’tis toired o’ 
the loife Oi am, at this minute! ’T was but to have 
a pape at the world, an’ from feelin’ sore afther a 
bit of a quarrel wid Mollie, that Oi jined the navy. 
Poor Mollie! She’s been cryin’ her eyes out for 
me .ivver since, Oi’m thinkin’.” 

“Mike,” said Nancy, and even his Mollie had 
never looked more coaxing, “if you ever should find 
out who that young gentleman was that bandaged 
your head, you would n’t tell of him, would you, and 
get him into trouble?” 

“Nivver a wurrud!” vowed Mike. “If ivver Oi 
bring a tear to a swate little lady’s eye, may Oi 
spend the rest o’ me days in Davy Jones’s locker! 
And, belave me, before ivver they call on Michael 
O’Connor to testifoy agin’ that foin young gintle- 
man, one mimber o’ the crew o’ the Gaspee will be 
missin’ from the r’yal navy!” 

“Now Mike won’t tell, and Phil won’t tell, so 
Dick’s safe,” Nancy assured herself after this; “at 
least he’s almost safe. Oliver Winch is a coward— 
Dick says all sneaks are cowards—so I’m sure he 
wouldn’t really dare—” 

She tossed care aside, which was more than 
Colonel Monteith was doing. Ever since their re¬ 
turn from Providence, he had been growing gloom¬ 
ier and gloomier. It was that hateful proclamation, 
she told herself. As for Dick, he began to show 
himself moody, restless, and irritable, and such signs 


BURIED TREASURE 131 

that his turbulent blood was stirring always fore¬ 
told a clash with parental authority. 

Nancy wondered if the clash had come when one 
day she passed her father’s favorite den and, the 
door being ajar, heard Dick exclaim in a hurt way, 
as if some plain truth spoken by the colonel had 
cut deep: 

“But, Father, if you ’ll only treat me like a man, 
and not like a child, you ’ll find out I can be steady 
enough! Give me a man’s work to do—and I ’ll do 
it!” 

A long silence; then came the answer: “Very 
well, my son. I will give you a man’s work to do. 
And, in preparation for it, be ready to ride with me 
to Boston, starting to-morrow morning.” 

Quite forgetting that she was eavesdropping, 
Nancy waited to learn what the “man’s work” was 
to be; but the colonel suddenly added: ‘ ‘ Shut that 

door tight, Dick. I don’t wish our little pitcher 
with long ears to overhear.” 

Guessing herself to be the little pitcher referred 
to, Nancy, her curiosity redoubled, fled guiltily down 
the hall. 

Next morning early they started, the colonel 
mounted on his bay horse Bruce and Dick on Bonny 
Prince Charlie, with Pompey on Jock, attending 
them as groom. Perched on a gate-post, Nancy 
waved good-by till they were out of sight; then she 
slipped down and, with Caesar for her only escort, 
wandered off to the orchard, gathering, as she 

strolled, some of the grandchildren of the daisies 

f 


132 WHITE FIRE 

that the early colonists had brought from Mother 
England. 

It was police duty that called the mastiff from 
Her side. A strange dog had dared to show himself 
on the premises, and Caesar drove him off the place 
and pursued him madly down the road. Nancy 
paused in the orchard to tell her fortune with a 
white-frilled daisy. 

“One I love, two I love —” she began; then some¬ 
thing, she knew not what, made her look up from 
her golden-eyed oracle. She stared, smothered 
a cry, and stood crushing the daisy in her clenched 
hand. It was no romantic Prince Charming, wafted 
hither by magic, who stood before her; it was Oliver 
Winch! 



CHAPTER VIII 


A DANGEROUS VISITOR 

O LIVER WINCH addressed the startled girl 
this time with mocking politeness: “Good 
day, Mistress Nancy!” 

He came so close to her that she drew back, and 
he wore the smile that she detested. “I saw the 
colonel and Dick ridin’ away just now,” said he, 
“like as they was startup on a journey. Where are 
they goin’?” 

“That is their own affair,” she answered with 
dignity. 

Oliver snickered. “I dunno about that. I guess 
mebbe it’s my affair, too. I come here to see ’em 
about a piece of business.” 

“What business?” Nancy’s heart was throbbing 
like a frightened bird’s. 

“That’s my own affair,” he mimicked. “Seem’ 
they ’re gone, though, I don’t mind talkin’ it over 
with you . You ’re a smart young one, smart as you 
are pretty!” 

“Oliver Winch, don’t you dare speak to me like 
that!” flashed Nancy, anger mounting above fear. 
“I wonder,” she cried, “how you dare come here 
at all when my father told you never to set foot 
on this place again! ’ ’ 


133 


134 


WHITE FIRE 


Oliver laughed at her indignation. “How do I 
dare! I dare because your father has more cause 
to be afraid of me than I have to be afraid of him. 
I have the whip-hand, Mistress Nancy, and that 
domineerin’ brother of yours, I ’ll learn him to eat 
humble-pie! I can send him to the gallows if I 
choose!” 

It had come, the shot that Nancy had so long been 
dreading! She felt dizzy for a moment. She could 
only stare at Oliver in a piteous, helpless way. 

“Last time we met,” said he, “you was readin’ 
the proclamation about the attack on the Gaspee. 
Remember what the governor said, eh! He called 
it an ‘atrocious crime,’ and he offered one hundred 
pounds sterlin’ money to anybody who’d ‘discover 
the perpetrators of the said villainy.’ Now, that 
precious brother of yours was one of the perpe¬ 
trators. Oh, mebbe he never told you! But he was 
one of ’em, and I can prove it.” 

“You can’t prove it! You can’t!” poor Nancy 
protested wildly. 

“Can’t I! I’ve proof enough to convict him, 
once he’s brought to trial. I saw him settin’ out. 
He knows I did. And I saw him cornin’ back with 
the leaders by daylight, after they’d set the Gaspee 
afire. I heard their talk, too. They didn’t see me 
that time, but I was there, layin’ low. Oh, I’ve 
proof enough, I tell you. Not that it’s a pleasant 
dooty to hand Dick over to justice,” Oliver added 
virtuously. “I’ve no call to love your brother, for 
the wrong he’s done me, chargin’ me with bein’ dis- 


A DANGEROUS VISITOR 


135 


nonest, and losin’ me my place here. But it ain’t 
revenge that’s drivin’ me to this. It’s a matter of 
conscience with me. As a loyal subject of the king, 
it’s my dooty, I say, to report him. Now, listen 
here, while I explain matters. The governor ’s of¬ 
ferin’ a hundred pounds. I’m a poor man, and 
I need money. I need it bad, and a hundred pounds 
sounds mighty temptin’! But I’m soft-hearted. 
Dick’s a likely lad, same as you ’re a likely girl. 
I hate to think of him bein ’ marched off to Execution 
Dock. Now, you tell your father when he comes 
home that if he’s ready to pay me two hundred 
pounds 1 ’m ready to hold my tongue and let your 
brother go scot-free.” 

Oliver paused with the self-satisfied air of one 
who was making a liberal offer. 

Nancy could only repeat in a dazed way, “Two 
hundred pounds.” She had never heard of “black¬ 
mail,” but she was ready to catch at any life-line 
of hope thrown out. 

Oliver nodded. “Two hundred pounds sterling 
and Dick’s as safe as you are. You say that to the 
colonel from me; but tell him, too, if that two hun¬ 
dred ain’t forthcoming or if he makes any trouble 
for me, that ’ll be equal to his signin’ his boy’s 
death-warrant. For then— I — speak — out.” 

He waited for the white-faced girl to give some 
sign that she understood, but she remained silent, 
locking her hands together convulsively. 

“Now,” went on Oliver, “we ’ll have to wait till 
the colonel gets back before we settle the details of 


136 WHITE FIRE 

this transaction. When do you look for him to get 
home?” 

“He—he said—in about ten days.” 

“Well, I ’m willin , to wait ten days for 
him,” Oliver assented. “But as soon as he gets 
back, you tell him, if he cares to save his son’s neck, 
to write post-haste to ‘Olney Wilkins,’ Sabin’s Inn, 
Providence. Post-haste, mind you, and not to 
‘Oliver Winch,’ but to ‘Olney Wilkins.’ That’s my 
name up there. Understand?” 

“Olney Wilkins, Sabin’s Inn. Yes, I—under¬ 
stand.” 

“That’s a good girl. Trust Mistress Nan to 
handle the business neatly! Smart as she is 
pretty!” 

He laid his hand familiarly on Nancy’s shoulder. 
She sprang back. “Don’t you come near me, you— 
you— snake!” 

He took a quick step forward. “Young lady, 
you’d better take care what kind of compliments 
you pay me, seein’ you folks is all in my power.” 

Nancy’s reply was to draw from under her ker¬ 
chief the little silver whistle that hung from a chain 
about her neck. Before Oliver Winch could catch 
her by the arm she had raised the whistle to her 
lips and sent forth a shrill summons. He cast a 
quick look around him. 

“That’s a pretty toot—rather piercin’!” he said, 
with an uneasy laugh. “Well, I guess we’ve talked 
enough business for one mornin’, so I ’ll say ‘Good 
day.’ ” 


A DANGEROUS VISITOR 


137 


With unceremonious haste he began to walk to¬ 
ward the orchard gate. Nancy whistled piercingly 
twice, thrice; and suddenly Oliver changed his course 
and sought a convenient apple-tree, for in answer to 
her summons a huge tawny creature was making 
straight for him, in a series of lion-like bounds. 
Caesar had returned from his pursuit of the trespass¬ 
ing dog and was now clearing the distance between 
himself and Winch with the rapidity of a whirlwind. 
Nancy saw her unwelcome caller gain the foot of 
the apple-tree, and, casting pride and dignity to 
the winds, scramble up to the highest crotch that it 
afforded. 

The great dog rushed at the tree, but it was too 
late. Secure amid sheltering boughs, Oliver could 
safely taunt his baffled enemy; only he was not in 
a taunting humor just then. He found it unpleasant 
to watch the mastiff leap into the air again and 
again in a frantic, furious endeavor to reach him. 
Balked of the hope of fastening his teeth in the 
trespasser’s leg, Caesar planted himself at the foot 
of the tree and spoke his mind to Oliver Winch. 
He bayed out his fury and hate till the little green 
apples trembled with fear! 

Nancy joined her tawny protector under the tree, 
and patted the mastiff soothingly on his great 
head. 

4 * Caesar, dear, hush! There, there, hush a minute, 
and listen to me. You stay here and keep him up 
that tree till I come back. I don’t need you. Watch 
him. Don’t try to come down,” she called up to 


138 WHITE FIEE 

Oliver. “If yon do, Caesar will tear yon to pieces.” 
She turned away. 

“Hey, there! Hey!” Oliver shouted after her. 
“Call your dog off! Let me get down from here, 
and I ’ll clear out. I was goin’ away, peaceable. 
I wasn’t harmin’ a soul, only givin’ you a chance 
to save your brother. Call your dog off, I say! 
I can’t stay here all day! ’ ’ 

“Maybe you ’ll have to, and all night too,” was 
Nancy’s hard-hearted reply. 

But what was she to do ? she asked herself, as she 
flew to the orchard gate. Oh, for her father! Oh, 
for Dick! Oh, even for Pompey’s advice! She was 
afraid to ask help of anybody not in Dick’s 
secret; and so, instead of hurrying back to her own 
house, she tucked up her dimity skirts and set out, 
cross lots, for Squire Winfield’s. Few girls of her 
day could have covered the distance as quickly, for 
most of them would have had to mince it in tight- 
fitting high-heeled shoes, over the rough ground. 
But, trained by Dick to be almost an Indian herself, 
Nancy was used to roaming over the farm, free¬ 
footed, in beaded moccasins. Shod with these, she 
sped on her way, swift as an Iroquois or Algonquin 
maiden, to find her comrade in the secret, Phil. 

It was a hot and breathless girl who turned in 
at the Winfields’ gate. None of the family were 
in view, and she had nearly reached the house be¬ 
fore she heard a clatter of hoofs behind her, and, 
turning, saw Phil mounted on the bonny black pacer 
that had just been bought for him of Colonel Mon- 


A DANGEROUS VISITOR 139 

teith. She flew toward him, and he dismounted as 
they met. 

“ ’Pon my word, Nancy! You Ye as red as a red 
Indian boiled! What’s the matter?” 

“I—ran all the way! I’m—all—out of—breath! 
Oliver Winch is here—up a tree! He says he ’ll 
tell—Governor Wanton—about Dick—if we don’t 
pay him—two hundred pounds! And Papa and 
Dick have gone—and I don’t know what to do! ’’ 

Phil looked blank. “Who’s Oliver Winch?” 

Regaining her breath, Nancy told him the whole 
story. 

“The cur! The blackguard! He ought to go to 
the gallows!” raged Phil as he listened; but he 
shouted with laughter on hearing how Caesar had 
driven Oliver to take refuge among the apples. 

“But what am I to do with him now?” Nancy 
ended. “I can’t keep him up in that tree till Papa 
comes home!” 

“Let Caesar eat him up,” Phil suggested coolly. 
“That’s the quickest way out of it.” 

“I believe Caesar would eat him up—almost, if 
he could reach him,” declared Nancy. “We 
must n’t really let him get hold of him. But I don’t 
dare let Oliver go free. It would be just like him 
to take the two hundred pounds from Papa, and 
then go and tell the governor after all! Oh, Phil, 
you must help me! Think—think hard 

Phil frowned and puckered his lips and whistled 
long and thoughtfully. “Oh, I say!” he cried at 
last, as an idea struck him, “If you won’t let Caesar 



140 


WHITE FIRE 


chew him up, let’s — 99 Then he imparted his idea 
to Nancy, who greeted it with a little skip of ecstasy, 
and exclaimed, “That ’s perfectly glorious!” 

Captain Terryberry of the Lively Bess was seated 
on a coil of ropes on the pier, smoking his pipe and 
spinning yarns for an adoring group of boys, while 
his long-boat lay drawn up on the beach and his 
brig lay at anchor far out in deep water. The Lively 
Bess was booked to start on a voyage to Barbados 
as soon as there was breeze enough to fill her sails, 
but just now she lay “as idle as a painted ship upon 
a painted ocean . 99 

Before every long cruise, Captain Terryberry 
paid a good-by call on his friend Colonel Monteith, 
and whenever he returned from a voyage he brought 
his little sweetheart, as he called Nancy, a number 
of curious gifts, picked up in the far-away ports he 
had visited. Yesterday he had crossed over from 
Newport to bid his friends in Narragansett farewell 
before setting sail for Barbados, and at their urg¬ 
ing he had spent the night with them, taking his 
leave before the colonel and Dick took theirs this 
morning. But he had progressed on his way to 
Barbados only as far as the pier, where he had set¬ 
tled down for a pull at his pipe and a chat with 
the boys, all of them a-thirst to run away to sea; 
for the wind had died down during the night, and 
the lazy air refused to comply with his wishes and 
provide him with the fresh breeze he needed. 

The skipper of the Lively Bess broke off in the 


A DANGEROUS VISITOR 141 

middle of his favorite yarn at sight of his little 
sweetheart perched sideways on a black horse, and 
escorted by the dismounted equestrian, Philip Tem¬ 
pleton, whose acquaintance Captain Terryberry 
had made but half an hour before, when Phil had 
ridden down to the pier. The captain hauled him¬ 
self up from the coil of ropes and advanced to wel¬ 
come the two. 

“Ahoy, there! Here comes the Dancing Nancy, 
trimmest, tautest little craft in Atlantic wa¬ 
ters!” 

“Oh, Captain Terryberry, I’m so glad the wind 
would n’t blow, and so you could n’t sail. I thought 
of course you’d gone, till Phil told me you were 
down here, whistling for a breeze! I’ve something 
to tell you. I want you to help me. Lift me down, 
please.” 

“Light as a drop o’ sea-foam!” declared the cap¬ 
tain, as he lifted Nancy from the saddle. Setting 
her down, he surveyed her quizzically. “Why, 
what’s happened to this little craft? Looks as if 
you’d struck a squall. Your skysail most blown 
away, and a rent in your mainsail too! Where have 
you been cruising, dearie?” 

Nancy’s gauzy cap was all awry and nearly off 
her tumbled curls, and her flowered dimity had suf¬ 
fered more than one tear as she scrambled over 
stone walls and broke through brambles on her way 
to Squire Winfield’s. 

“It was worse than a squall! Come where those 
boys can’t hear,” she whispered. 


142 


WHITE FIRE 


The three drew away to a safe distance. “Now 
let’s have it,” said Captain Terryberry. 

“Promise me first you ’ll do what I wish,” 
wheedled Nancy. 

“Now, now!” he protested. “We ’re steering 
too nigh the shoals. There’s danger ahead. Sup¬ 
pose I was to promise something I couldn’t per¬ 
form. You might want to send me diving after 
pearls for a necklace, but let me tell you, my dear, 
I’m growing too old for that sort of exercise. Of 
course, if it’s only a little matter of bringing you 
back a baby whale for a pet, to tie up with blue 
ribbons, like you rig up your cosset lambs, why—” 

“No, it’s not even a baby whale!” Nancy in¬ 
terrupted. “It’s the easiest thing in the world! 
I only want you to kidnap somebody far me.” 

The captain’s jaw dropped in his astonishment. 
“In the name of all the buccaneers! Kidnap some¬ 
body! Who? Him?” clapping Phil on the shoul¬ 
der. 

“Dear, no! I couldn’t spare Phil. I want you 
to kidnap Oliver Winch.” 

“Oliver Which! Oh, Oliver Winch!” Captain 
Terryberry knit his brows in his effort to recollect 
the owner of that name. ‘ ‘ Seems to me that sounds 
familiar. Winch. He worked on your place once, 
didn’t he? About the time I was sailing for the 
Bahamas?” 

“The cur ought to be marooned on a desert island, 
for the rest of his life!” Phil broke in. 

“And you want me to do the marooning? Carry 


A DANGEROUS TREASURE 


143 


him off on the Lively Bess, and dump him on a can¬ 
nibal island, to make a pot-pie for the king? Well, 
now, my lad, granting this fellow deserves all that, 
still I don’t know as I have the legal right to kidnap 
a citizen of New England. 1 might get kidnapped 
myself, by an officer of the law, when I get back 
from Barbados.” 

“But it’s the only way to save Dick!” pleaded 
Nancy. 

“Dick? Is the fellow pestering Dick? What 
about ?’ ’ 

“About the Gaspee. Oh, dear! I promised Dick 
not to tell anybody what he did, but I’m sure you 
know—you’ve guessed, because you looked so mis¬ 
chievous last night when you asked him how he 
liked the governor’s proclamation. And you stood 
up for the men who burned the Gaspee, and you said 
you wished you’d been one of them. So I know 
you ’re on our side.” 

“I’m on the side of my little sweetheart every 
time!” vowed her stanch old friend. “Aye, aye, 
dearie, I guessed why Dick was sailing home in such 
a hurry that day. This fellow Winch guessed, too, 
did he?” 

“He knows. He saw Dick going off to burn the 
Gaspee and coming back! He says he can send 
Dick to the gallows if he chooses!” 

“I ’ll send him to the sharks first!” threatened 
the captain of the Lively Bess. “Now let’s have 
the whole yarn. ’ ’ 

Phil had called Oliver a cur and a blackguard. 


144 


WHITE FIRE 


Captain Terryberry, seething with indignation as 
he listened to Nancy’s story, called him a squid and 
a cuttlefish. 

“And to come bullying and frightening my girl!” 
he fumed. “But don’t you worry any more, dearie. 
I’ve given tougher customers than he their des¬ 
erts.” 

“And you will kidnap him, won’t you, Captain 
dear?” she coaxed. “Please, please say you will; 
and carry him off to Barbados with you!” 

The wary skipper cocked his head on one side and 
took two or three meditative puffs at his pipe. 
“Now, see here, Nancy girl,” he said, “I’m prej¬ 
udiced against kidnapping. If I wasn’t, I ’d'have 
stolen you years ago, for a little guardian cherub, 
to bring me good luck. Nobody can accuse me of 
being of a lawless and piratical nature; and yet you 
come tempting me to turn kidnapper!” 

“To save Dick!” Nancy reminded him, and her 
eyes flashed sword-points of reproach. “Isn’t it 
better to be a pirate and a kidnapper than to let 
him die?” 

The kind-hearted seaman put his arm around her 
with fatherly tenderness. “Little girl, do you 
think I’d really let a hair of that lad’s head be 
harmed? Sooner than that, I’d offer myself as a 
substitute for him at Execution Dock. Why, I be¬ 
lieve I love him better than you do, judging from 
the quarrels I’ve seen you have with him, and 
the flattering things I’ve heard you say!” 

The eyes that had flashed at him shone with sud- 


A DANGEROUS VISITOR 


145 


den tears, as Nancy looked np into the kind, rugged 
face that she had known as long as she could remem¬ 
ber. 

“Little one, can’t you trust me! n said the cap¬ 
tain, and she felt her shaken confidence returning. 

“What will you do?” she asked. 

He paused for another puff at his pipe. “I ’ll 
have to figure it out, step by step. But you leave 
it to me, and I ’ll make that cuttlefish let go his 
hold on Dick. Now, first of all, you two go back to 
the apple-tree and give him a chance to get down and 
take himself off. Tell him, if he’s ready to quit 
the place double-quick without any more impudence, 
you ’ll call off your dog. Otherwise, he ’ll have to 
stay up there in the crosstrees with Caesar chained 
at the foot till your father gets home. I guess, 
when he hears that, he ’ll submit without any fuss! 
So then you can tell Caesar the ‘dog-watch’ is over, 
and you ’ll release him from his post of duty; and 
you lead him out of the way of Oliver’s enticing 
legs, but not too far out of the way. And if the 
fellow gives you any more trouble, sick the dog on 
him again. Meanwhile, I ’ll be sauntering up the 
road, about the time he’s slinking out of the gate; 
and I ’ll just happen to fall in with him, and we ’ll 
have a leetle conversation together.” 

“And you ’ll tell him what you ’ll do to him if 
he dares make trouble for Dick?” 

“I don’t know as I ’ll mention Dick at all,” re¬ 
plied the disappointing skipper. “Most likely, 
we ’ll avoid all uncomfortable topics. But I ’ll keep 


146 


WHITE FIRE 


my eye on him, and before I’m done with him I ’ll 
learn him to keep his month shut, without having it 
plugged with money.” 

Caesar was crouching at the foot of the apple- 
tree, and Oliver Winch was sulking on his high 
perch, when Nancy and Phil reached the orchard. 

“You leave me to manage him. He needs a man 
to talk to him,” said Phil, advancing with a stride 
that meant business. 

Caesar, who knew him well and approved of him, 
barked a thunderous greeting, reserving his growls 
for his prisoner. Phil took his stand under the 
apple-tree, and gave Oliver a fine sample of “man’s 
talk! ’ ’ 

“See here, you blackguard! We ought to leave 
you to starve or be chewed up; but if you ’re ready 
to clear out decently this young lady will call her 
dog otf. If you don’t march quick, though, we ’ll 
set him on you again.” 

Oliver’s pale face scowled hatred at Phil and 
Nancy. ‘ ‘ I was n’t doin ’ no harm, ’ ’ he snarled. 11 1 
only come here to try to do her a kindness, and look 
what I get for it! Call the dog otf, then, and I ’ll 
quit. I was goin’ away peaceable, when she sicked 
that murderin’ beast on me.” 

“And she ’ll do it again if you open your mouth 
for another word!” Phil threatened, enjoying the 
situation tremendously. 

It took all Nancy’s powers of command and all his 
training in perfect obedience to induce the mastiff to 
leave his post, but in the end he growlingly sub- 


A DANGEROUS VISITOR 147 

mitted to being led away from the temptation of¬ 
fered by Oliver’s descending legs. The freed 
prisoner quitted the premises by the shortest cut 
possible. He crossed the orchard at a quickstep, 
with many a nervous glance behind, and fairly 
hurled himself over the stone wall that marked the 
boundary of the colonel’s land; and if, out on the 
public road, he shook his fist and swore to be re¬ 
venged on everybody, “that murderin’ beast” in¬ 
cluded, he was then too far away to be seen or heard 
by Nancy, Phil, or Caesar. 

About midday a fresh breeze rose, and the Lively 
Bess sailed away; but, instead of putting directly 
to sea, she turned back to the harbor of Newport, 
whence she had come. She did this because her 
captain was a man of his word. When that word 
was fulfilled, the Lively Bess weighed anchor once 
more, and sailed gaily on her course toward Barba¬ 
dos. 

Next day the owner of a small fishing-boat brought 
Nancy a letter that had been written in Newport 
Harbor and delivered to him for transmission. It 
was sealed with a wafer, and folded, after the 
fashion of the day, so that one side served to bear 
the address. Upon this outer side was written: 

To my very good friend Miss Nancie Monteith, These 
present. 

Those were the days when people showered ab¬ 
breviations everywhere, wrote “ye” for “the,” and 


148 


WHITE FIRE 


spelled as best suited their whimsical fancy. The 
letter brought by the fisherman was headed: 

Ye Brigg Lively Bess . 

Newport Harbor. 

And it ran thus: 

Deare Nancie: 

You will bee wanting to heare how your Friend ye 
Cuttlefish is getting on. He is now aboarde ye Brigg. 
He is busy slushing ye Spars. It fell out on this Wyse. 

As I was Navigateing ye Rode outside your Place, he 
hove in Syte. I hail’d him and inquir’d what Port he 
was a-steering for. 

“ Providence, ’ ’ saith he. 

I sayd to him: “Ship with me, an’ you like. Ye Lively 
Bess sails for Newport Harbor, as soon as ye Breze rizes, 
and there bee many Boats sailing thence to Providence. ’ 1 

He agrees; so we put off in ye Long Boat, and are soon 
aboard ye Brigg. I did not broache ye Matter of hireing 
him, till we drop’t Anchor in ye Harbor of Newport. He 
wish’t to be put Ashore, but I ledd him downe to ye 
Cabbin, insted. I shewed ham my fine nue Brace of Pistols 
and some Cutlasses; also ye Cat-o ’-Nyne-Tailes. These 
I layd on ye Table before me, and I told him he deserv’d 
a Taste of them all, for I had learn’d from you how he was 
behaveing. I told him I had only bargain’d to bring him 
to ye Harbor, not to put him Ashore, and if he was minded 
to clayme 100 lbs from ye Govern ’r, we would heave him 
Overboard and he could swimm to Lande. But I sayd 
Birds of his Feather always come to Roost in Gaol 1 at last. 
Then I gave him his Choyce of beeing hove Overboard, or 


i Jail. 


A DANGEROUS VISITOR 


149 


becomeing an Honest Man and an Abel Seaman, and earn¬ 
ing fair Wages aboard ye Brigg. He gave in and chose 
to stay aboard. 

Our next Port will be Barbadoes. Cheerily my Lass! 
Kepe up ye Brave Hearte. 

Yr Obedient Servante, 

Jabez Terryberry. 

Gleefully Nancy read this letter aloud to Phil, 
and she ended with the declaration, “Blackberries 
are good, strawberries are better, but Terryberries 
are the best of all!” 


CHAPTER IX 


A MYSTERIOUS ERRAND 

T HERE was no kitchen so wonderfully scoured, 
so lavishly stocked with pots and pans and 
kettles of shining copper and brass, so completely 
the model of what a kitchen should be, as the one 
in the big frame house with the gambrel-roof, the 
quaint colonial porch, the “Christian” front door 
with its upper and lower crosses and the beautiful 
fan-light above it, and the hospitable rooms where 
guests, however many and unexpected, always 
found a cordial welcome—the house that William 
Rowland had built and James Stuart Monteith had 
inherited. Such, at least, was the opinion of the 
little brown bright-eyed mouse of a woman who sat 
by a half-opened lattice window, cooling her heated 
face after bending over the two copper kettles that 
hung from the crane above the blazing logs in the 
enormous fireplace and exhaled a sugary-sweet and 
aromatic breath. Lisette Robin, long since pro¬ 
moted from children’s nurse to colonel’s house¬ 
keeper, had been spending that afternoon of sum¬ 
mer thunder-showers in superintending the pre¬ 
serving. Now, while Judy and Prudy, sisters to 
Pompey in complexion, watched over the syrupy 
brew of berries and black cherries, and Queen 

150 


A MYSTERIOUS ERRAND 


151 


Esther, dark and stately, rolled pie-crust, Lisette 
allowed herself a few minutes of repose for the first 
time that day. 

As the fresh air, fragrant of shower-wet earth, 
soothed her, the little woman’s eyelids drooped. 
The vision of dark rafters overhead and white 
sanded floor below, and metal gleaming on the wall 
as the firelight played upon it, faded; and she was 
no longer “Mama Lisette,” as Nancy always 
called her; hut the young girl Lisette of years gone 
by. She was far away across the sea. She was in 
France, in a convent first, with another girl be¬ 
side her and gentle nuns around her, like shadows in 
their flowing robes; and, next, she was in a house 
in Paris, a very splendid house, the like of which 
was unknown in the colonies. She saw all about 
her the glitter of gold, the sheen of silk and satin. 
She passed from room to room, over floors 
polished like glass, but always in company with that 
other girl, a very different maiden from peasant 
Lisette. That other girl appeared in all the 
dignity of powdered hair and stiff brocade, and 
how beautiful she was, lovelier than ever, and still 
hardly more than a child, when Lisette helped to 
dress her for her bridal day! 

So the dreamer by the kitchen window wandered 
in fancy through the bygone days in France, till a 
light footstep made her turn her head and open her 
eyes. Before her stood—the Other Girl! There 
she shone, white and resplendent in the firelight, 
the bride whom Lisette had helped to robe for her 


152 


WHITE FIRE 


wedding! She was dressed all in glistening creamy 
satin brocade, rich with gold embroidery and drap¬ 
eries of finest lace. Her hair, rolled high and pow¬ 
dered, made a soft wintry snow-drift above a face 
that belonged to the spring-time, fresh and lovely as 
an opening flower. 

The girl laughed, a musical trill of delight, and 
said in French, 4 ‘Mama Lisette, did I wake you up 
and frighten you?” 

Lisette rose to her feet with outstretched arms. 
“My child! My dearie! For one moment you 
frightened me. Yet why should I be frightened, 
thinking I saw my sweet angel, your mother, stand¬ 
ing before me? No, no, I was not asleep; I am 
quite sure I was not asleep; yet I was dreaming of 
the days when she and I were girls together, your 
mother was a great lady and 1 her little maid. And 
then—I open my eyes, and there you stand in my 
lady’s bridal dress; and for one moment I believe I 
see a vision! I think you are your mother come 
back to me!” 

‘ ‘ There! Then I do look like her! Mama Lisette, 
you need never pretend I don’t, any more. I came 
to show you how beautiful I am, how beautiful we 
are.” 

Nancy, in her mother’s wedding-gown, turned and 
beckoned to a second vision that had followed the 
first into the kitchen, while Queen Esther and her 
helpers forgot pie-paste and preserving-kettles in 
admiration of “Missy” and her friend transformed. 


A MYSTERIOUS ERRAND 


153 


Holding out her hand, she led forward by the finger¬ 
tips a taller girl, robed in a satin “sack” of tur¬ 
quoise blue with a flowing train, and a white satin 
petticoat with a border of brocaded roses, a cluster 
of seed-pearls in the center of each flower. 

“Ah, Meess Phyllees!” exclaimed the little 
French-woman. “You wear ze robe my bebe’s 
Mama wear to ze palace of Versailles!” 

“Please admire our hair,” said Nancy, as they 
paraded in the fire-light. “Phyllis dressed mine 
and I dressed hers. We stole the powder from 
Papa’s box, and we used so much we Ve hardly left 
him any for his own wig! What will he do, poor 
little Papa?” 

“Nancy really is lovely now, isn’t she?” cried 
Phyllis, proud of her share in the transformation. 
“La, my dear! I didn’t know you could look so 
pretty! If only you would always keep a sun-mask 
on out of doors, as I do, and not forget to wear * 
gloves to keep your hands white, why, you might 
even be a beauty some day!” 

Lisette nodded approval. “Good, good, Meess 
Phyllees! You scold my naughtee child for not 
take care of her complexion. I scold her, too, every 
day. I tell her, if she let ze sun kiss her and 
spoil her face, how can she hope to resemble her 
mama ? ’ ’ 

“But I do resemble my mama, or you wouldn’t 
have taken me for her,” Nancy insisted. “So the 
sun may kiss me as much as he pleases. I don’t 


154 WHITE FIRE 

care if I do catch a few freckles, as long as I’m 
like Mama.” 

“You and Nancy always speak French to each 
other, don’t you!” said Phyllis. “And she says 
you tell wonderful stories about the days when you 
lived in France. Won’t you tell us one now? Tell 
us the story of these two beautiful gowns.” 

Both dresses had their histories, and Lisette was 
ready enough to tell them, but not here in the 
kitchen! She refused to let fall a word till she had 
whisked into a fresh apron and they had adjourned 
to the parlor. Then she began with, the annals of 
the turquoise-blue costume and of the family dia¬ 
monds, too, that had sparkled on the white neck and 
arms of their owner, when she wore them at her 
debut at Versailles; but she soon strayed off into 
memories of her own childhood and that of Nancy’s 
mother Marie Anastasie. This Marie Anastasie was 
a nobleman’s daughter. Lisette was born in a peas¬ 
ant cottage; but at the dawn of their lives their 
paths had met and become one. The mother of 
Lisette was nurse to the little Anastasie, making 
the cottage baby and the child of noble blood foster- 
sisters. As they grew older, Anastasie had refused 
to be separated from her peasant playmate, and so 
Lisette had shared her life and lessons at the con¬ 
vent, and she had attended her little lady as maid, 
to be sure, but also as beloved confidante, when 
mademoiselle had come forth from the care and 
teaching of the nuns, to be married to the gallant 


A MYSTERIOUS ERRAND 155 

young officer Victor de Fontaines. And here came 
in the story of the white brocade. 

The girl bride had never laid eyes on her bride¬ 
groom till the day of her betrothal, for in France, 
Lisette explained, it was the fathers and mothers 
who arranged the marriages of their sons and 
daughters. 

“If you lived in France, you would be mar¬ 
ried now!” Nancy informed Phyllis. “It’s the 
fashion there for girls to marry at fourteen or 
fifteen! ’ ’ 

“Your mama was sixteen,” said Lisette, “and 
Monsieur de Fontaines, twenty-t Tee. It was a mar¬ 
riage made in heaven! He love her; ah, how he 
love her! And she love him so, she refuse to be 
parted from him, when his regiment is ordered to 
New France, to Quebec. And me? I love my dear 
young lady so, 1 refuse to part from her. So, voila! 
We all make a voyage to New France; and in Que¬ 
bec 1 find a husband—a soldier, too.” She smiled, 
and then she sighed heavily, poor widowed Lisette 
Robin! 

What a strange wild world was that new one into 
which they had sailed! how different from Paris! 
Why, at first— 

But the story of her life in New France went un¬ 
told, for here Lisette found herself interrupted by 
the deafening voice of Caesar, stationed on guard 
on the front door-step. Nancy sprang up. 

“That’s Caesar’s 4 welcome home’ bark! Papa 


156 


WHITE FIRE 


and Dick must have come! Quick, Phyllis i Let’s 
meet them at the door, and surprise them. They *11 
wonder who these court ladies are! ’ ’ 

Lisette, chattering French again, arrested Nancy 
as she rustled across the parlor floor in her sweep¬ 
ing brocade. 

6 4 Wait, cherie! Wait, my giddy little one! If 
you fly into the papa’s arms as he comes in drenched 
from the rain, that exquisite dress will be ruined! 
I go first. You and Mademoiselle Phyllees follow, 
with dignity, as befits great ladies, and courtesy to 
him, gracefully, elegantly.” 

Nancy submitted, and Lisette hurried to the door. 
A violent hammering followed Caesar’s explosion of 
barking. Somebody was beating a thundering 
tattoo with the heavy brass door-knocker. 

“Ah, my boy! My impatient boy!” exclaimed 
Lisette. “When he pounds, he nearly breaks the 
house down!” 

She unfastened the bolt. There stood Dick. 
“Well, Little Mother, here’s your naughty boy 
back again, wet and muddy as usual, to spoil your 
floors!” 

He kissed the little woman who had been a mother 
to him as long as he could remember. Then he 
looked beyond her—stared— “Why—what—” 

Two radiant ladies came sailing forth from the 
parlor doorway—silky, satiny, glistening ladies— 
and they swept him each a majestic courtesy. 

“Out of the way, Dick! You ’re blocking the 
road.” As his son stepped aside, in came Colonel 


A MYSTERIOUS ERRAND 


157 


Monteith, with Cassar pressing close at his heels. 
He, too, stopped and stared at the double appari¬ 
tion. 

“How now, Mother Lisette? Are you a witch, 
as I’ve often suspected? Have you conjured up a 
royal palace for us? Who are these princesses?” 
He advanced, hat in hand, toward the mysterious 
ladies, his courtly bow matching their sweep¬ 
ing courtesies. “Royal Highnesses,—queens—em¬ 
presses—which are you? Deign to inform your 
humble servant, dazzled with all this glory. And, 
disheveled though he be, might he have the honor 
of saluting your finger-tips?” 

The regal dames were gracious. “Mademoiselle 
de Fontaines, Princess of Narragansett,” thus the 
fair one in the bridal dress introduced herself, grant¬ 
ing him her hand to kiss. “And my friend, the 
Duchess of Rhode Island.” 

The Duchess of Rhode Island presented rosy 
finger-tips in her turn, with a haughty grace that 
ended in a girlish titter. Then Dick had to bow 
and salute with gallantry. 

“Dazzled? I’m blinded!” he declared. “Just to 
look at you makes me see sun-spots! But how— 
where did all that—that—stuff—come from?” 

“Stuff! ! !” They froze him with their glare. 
“Regal splendor , you mean,” the Princess of Nar- 
ragansett corrected. “From my treasure-chest up¬ 
stairs. You stupid boy, you never cared to find 
out what was in it! Mama Lisette let me have the 
key this afternoon, to reward me for being so good 



158 


WHITE FIRE 


all the week. Oh, how good I’ve been!” She 
heaved a sigh of exhaustion. “I shall have to be 
bad all next week to make up. Papa, you ought to 
see all the thread I Ve spun on my wheel! And 
I Ve carded wool, and I’m learning to comb it, 
beautifully . And I Ve helped with the preserving, 
and I’m weaving—but never mind; I’m weaving 
something on my little hand-loom, for somebody to 
wear, and if only you’d stayed away one more 
day— Oh, I don’t care if I do hurt my dress! I 
can’t wait another minute to kiss you, you darling 
little Papa!” 

Lisette trembled for the fate of that brocade and 
lace; for the colonel—he was six feet tall, despite 
Nancy’s favorite pet name for him—gathered his 
lassie up, regardless as she of the consequences, 
and, while her arms locked themselves around his 
neck, held her crushed to his heart for a moment. 
If she had but known what a stab of distress it sent 
through that loving heart to see his little girl trans¬ 
formed into a court beauty! 

Soon another hammering of the great brass 
door-knocker, answered by another outburst of bark¬ 
ing from Caesar, heralded the arrival of servants 
from the Winfields’ to conduct Phyllis home, for 
the rain had almost ceased. The Duchess of Rhode 
Island, exchanging satin for dimity, rode home 
in an ancient sedan-chair; and the returned travelers 
made ready to sit down to supper with Mademoiselle 
de Fontaines, who, during the meal that followed, 
noticed that her father and Dick seemed to be study- 


A MYSTERIOUS ERRAND 


159 


ing her, as if they could not accustom themselves 
to this transformation in “Saucy Nan.” More than 
once she caught them exchanging glances, as if they 
were discussing her with their eyes. 

Ci I hope they ’re beginning to realize at last that 
I ’ll soon be a lady grown, and it’s time to stop 
treating me like a mere child, ’ ’ she said to herself. 

“Mama Lisette has been telling me all about my 
relations in France,” she announced, as the colonel 
pushed back his chair at the close of supper. “She 
says my uncle the count is a very great nobleman. 
He has a high position at court! She can’t remem¬ 
ber what it is, but—” 

“He’s the lord high groom of the king’s pet 
poodle, ’ ’ Dick informed her. ‘ ‘ He has to currycomb 
the little beast with a diamond comb and grease its 
curls with pomade every day.” 

“Your uncle holds a prominent place in King 
Louis’s household, so I’ve heard, but I never under- 
derstood his duties included currycombing poodles,” 
said Colonel Monteith, as Dick dodged a whack from 
my lady’s fan. 

“Papa, does my uncle the count know anything 
about meV’ asked Nancy. 

“He knows that you exist,” admitted her foster- 
father, and a shadow stole over his face. 

“Then why does he never write to me, or send 
me presents! I think it would be polite of him to 
take some notice of me, don’t you!” 

“Perhaps he will write to you some day.” 

‘ ‘ Or invite me to visit him! ’’ she suggested. ‘‘ Do 


160 


WHITE FIRE 


yon know what I used to play! That my French re¬ 
lations had sent for me to visit them, and I was 
going to France! And though I’m too old to play 
it any more, I love to imagine it still. And who 
knows! Maybe it will come true some day.” 

“And won’t your French relations dote on you 
when they see you! Fire-hair and freckles! ’ ’ teased 
Dick. 

“I shall wear my hair powdered,” she returned; 
“and Mama Lisette says the ladies in France wear 
beautiful painted complexions, like lilies and roses; 
so even freckles don’t count.” 

“What’s the difference between ladies and sav¬ 
ages, I’d like to know! Both of ’em paint their 
faces,” scoffed Dick. 

Ignoring alike the remark and her precious and 
voluminous brocade, Nancy perched herself on the 
arm of the colonel’s chair. 

“Some day,” said she, “I shall go to France, and 
my uncle the count will present me at court, and I ’ll 
see the beautiful Princess Marie Antoinette, who ’ll 
be queen by and by. Perhaps she ’ll make me one 
of her ladies of honor. And I shall dance minuets, 
with princes and dukes and marquises for my part¬ 
ners ! And I ’ll forget I ever had such a thing as 
a tiresome, awkward plague of an Indian brother! ’ ’ 
She fanned herself with a lofty and languishing air. 

“Won’t it be good to get rid of a silly infant 
like that!” Dick retorted. “What use are girls, 
anyhow! All they care about is dressing up, and 
dukes and marquises and going to court and all that 


A MYSTERIOUS ERRAND 


161 


nonsense! Never mind, my fine lady! Some day 
you ’ll get tired of picking up the princess’s fan, 
and then you ’ll wish you were back with your 
Indian brother. ’ ’ 

“Lassie, would you forget me, if you could have 
your way and go to live in France?” Her father’s 
voice had a strange note of wistfulness that made 
Nancy turn quickly and look into his face. That 
face was grave and troubled. 

“Why, Papa! You look as sad as if I were going 
to sail for France to-morrow! Forget you? You? 
I couldn’t forget my little papa, if I went to live 
for a million years in the moon!” 

She twisted the colonel’s powdered queue around 
her finger, then tickled his cheek with the end of 
it. One of those unpardonable liberties that he al¬ 
lowed his daughter to take, his Narragansett friends 
would have said, could they have peeped in upon 
the scene. They frowned darkly upon his strange 
method of bringing up his boy and girl, actually 
making himself a companion to them! If they could 
have overheard that “little papa,” they would have 
considered the case utterly hopeless! As it was, 
Nancy was never required to say “honored father,” 
and now she tickled his cheek, unrebuked. The ring 
on her finger flashed in the candle-light. 

“I forgot to show you my ring!” she exclaimed. 
“I found it in my mother’s chest. Is n’t it a beauty, 
with that clear yellow stone, like sunlight, in the 
center, and the pearls around it! And see, Papa, 
there are gold thistles on the ring, too.” 


162 


WHITE FIRE 


“The thistle of Scotland,” said Colonel Mon- 
teith. “This is a Scottish ring. Your mother 
showed it to me once and told me its history. They 
say it shone first on the finger of bonny Queen Mary 
Stuart.” 

“Oh, Papa! Really? Why—how—wonderful!” 
Nancy had often listened enthralled to the tragic 
story of the Scottish queen. “Poor beautiful Queen 
Mary! To think she once wore this ring! Let me 
keep it, Papa, and wear it myself after this! I 
promise I ’ll take care of it, and not lose it, ever.” 

“You have a right to wear it, Lassie. ’Tis your 
own, and, what is more, you know you have a wee 
drop of Stuart blood in your own veins. That *s 
what puts the bonny red tinge in your hair, I war¬ 
rant, and makes you such a wilful little baggage. 
And when your mother gave you to me, she said, 
since my mother was of the royal Stuart clan, too, 
and you were a bit of a Stuart yourself, she was but 
giving you to your own kinsman to cherish. So, 
Dawtie, you may keep and wear the ring.” 

Nancy lifted her head proudly. “If I’m of 
Stuart blood,” said she, “I ought to have been a 
girl in France when you and your father were in 
exile there. Then I’d have helped you in your 
plots to bring back Prince James and Bonny Prince 
Charlie, and put them on the English throne! ’ ’ 

“Who told you that we had ever plotted to bring 
those princes back to their own?” asked the colonel, 
his eyes twinkling. 

“Dick did. He said your father and your brother 


A MYSTERIOUS ERRAND 


163 


and all those Scotch people who had to flee to France 
were plotting to bring back those darling Stuarts 
to the throne.” 

Nancy had learned considerable history, but it 
was from the point of view of the exiled Stuarts, 
whom the British had wisely resolved should rule 
them no longer; hardly the point of view to be most 
recommended, but certainly a romantic one. She 
was an ardent champion of Prince James, the 
“Elder Pretender,” and burned with indignation 
over his wrongs, but her favorite hero was the more 
spirited “Younger Pretender,” his son, “Bonny 
Prince Charlie.” 

Dick appealed to the colonel. “You told me your¬ 
self, sir, how your father came over with that 
mysterious man—nobody knows now who he was but 
you—and you swore to keep his secret—” 

“Yes, that mysterious man!” Nancy interrupted. 
“You used to say I mustn’t hear the story about 
him, for fear I’d tell somebody; but I’m old enough 
now to keep the secret. Please, please, please, tell 
me now.” 

“Weel, then, ye wheedling lassie! Many years 
before you were born, there sailed from the Old 
World to the New, a band of Scottish exiles, 
Jacobites, they called them, because they were loyal 
to the cause of King James Second and to his son, 
Prince Jamie, after him—and Jacob and James are 
really the same name, you see. They settled over in 
Connecticut, but close to the Rhode Island border, 
and by and by some more Scottish exiles, who had 


164 


WHITE FIEE 


taken refuge in France, came to join them. Among 
these were my father and brother, though I, a 
motherless laddie, was left behind in the care of 
our good friends, the Baron de Montemar and his 
wife, for I was considered of too tender age to share 
the dangers and hardships that might lie ahead. 
Now, their leader’s name was Stuart. At first, after 
they landed, he lived among that little group of 
New England Jacobites in guarded secrecy, and 
even after he came out of hiding he went armed, 
night and day.” 

“Was he Prince Jamie?” Nancy asked, breath¬ 
lessly. 

“No, he was not Prince Jamie, but he was a true 
Stuart, every inch of him! How well I remember 
him, though I was but twelve years old, when at last 
my father fetched me over from France! He was 
of kingly bearing, with the ruddy hair and the dark 
eyes of that royal race, and the long white hands of 
a high-born gentleman .” 1 

Hick’s lip curled a bit scornfully at this, and he 
glanced at his own brown, muscular fist, as if he 
preferred that type. 

“And he was dressed right royally!” declared the 
colonel. “His linen was so fine that ’twas a say¬ 
ing among us, he could draw his shirt through his 
own finger-ring! His gold-laced coat smacked of 
the French court, and the French language ever 

1 The identity of the mysterious Stuart, who made his home in 
New England, as described in this story, has always remained an 
unsolved riddle to his descendants, who are with us to-day. 


A MYSTERIOUS ERRAND 


165 


came more glibly to bis lips than English, so long 
had he lived in France. He could dance and play 
the violin marvelous well, and when it came to fenc¬ 
ing, prince or no, Lassie, he was a king of swords¬ 
men! I have never coveted anything as in boy¬ 
hood I coveted that sword of his, the longest I have 
ever seen, and of matchless temper! In public his 
friends treated him as an equal, but ’t was rumored 
that persons who peeped through the keyhole upon 
them found out that in private they treated him 
as one far above them in rank.” 

44 Like a king!” cried Nancy. “Did they serve 
him on bended knee ?' ’ 

“Before 1 y d serve anybody on bended knee—” 
muttered Dick. 

“I 'm not saying whether rumor had it right or 
no,” answered the colonel. “ ’Twas not 1 who 
peeped through the keyhole.” 

“You did not have to,” Nancy observed slyly. 
“You were on the inside of that door. He was a 
prince, was n’t he, Papa? Really and truly a Stuart 
prince ? 9 9 

“I cannot tell you, Dawtie, because, like all the 
rest of those cavaliers, I pledged my word never to 
reveal who that Man of Mystery was. That pledge 
binds me still. He was a riddle to the country¬ 
folk around him, and a riddle he must remain. He 
married a New England lady, and he had his only 
child christened 'Mary Stuart' for the bonny queen. 
But his going, like his coming, was shrouded in 
mystery . 9 9 


166 


WHITE FIRE 


“How did he go?” asked Nancy. 

“More than once he left his quiet New England 
home and sailed across the sea on an errand that 
nobody knew but those faithful followers of his. 
My father and my brother sailed with him on his 
last voyage, and so should I have done had I been 
old enough to be trusted with—never mind what. 
But from that journey, none of them ever came 
back. I have, always believed them to have been 
lost at sea. But a truce to story-telling: here comes 
Peckham! ’ ’ 

Nancy glared at the overseer of the farm, whose 
unwelcome face appeared in the doorway, and, 
leaving her father to discuss crops and cattle with 
him, she drew Dick out into the hall. There she 
told him of Oliver Winch’s visit. Dick caught up 
his riding-whip. 

“The hound! The cowardly, skulking hound! 
I ’ll ride over to Providence to-morrow and hunt 
him out and horsewhip him till he howls for mercy!” 

“You can’t do that, Dick, because Oliver’s on his 
way to Barbados.” She told him the sequel, and 
his fury changed to merriment. He slapped his 
knee and roared with laughter. 

“So now there’s nobody left to tell tales of you,” 
rejoiced Nancy, “so I’m sure you ’re safe. I was 
so afraid you’d have to go away and hide some¬ 
where, for fear they’d arrest you—” 

“Hide! Who talks of hiding?” Dick blazed out 
in scorn. “Do you take me for a chicken-heart? I 
hope you don’t think I’m afraid of that groveling 


A MYSTERIOUS ERRAND 


167 


sneak! I’m not afraid of any of ’em. Execution 
Dock doesn’t worry me. It ’s just as well the 
rascal sailed first, though. I don’t care to have 
him get the notion that I’m going off to es¬ 
cape.” 

“Going off? Dick, what do you mean?” 

“Going to France,” he replied coolly. 

“ Fra-a-a-ance!” Nancy collapsed on the oaken 
settle. “What for?” 

“Certainly not to hide away. I’m going—on 
business for Father.” 

“Business! What business ? ” 

“Why, to arrange for the marriage of Mademoi¬ 
selle de Fontaines to the Duke of Flummery-Silli- 
bub, sixty -years old, deaf as a post, and tooth¬ 
less.” 

“Tell him I say, ‘No, thank you,’ ” laughed 
Nancy. “Now stop teasing, and tell me what it is, 
really.” 

“What if I’m sworn to secrecy?” 

“Then I ’ll tease it out of Papa.” 

“Tease away. Much you ’ll get out of him!” 
Dick thrust his hands into his pockets and began 
to whistle provokingly. 

“But how can Papa have business in France—so 
far away?” wondered Nancy. 

“Why, he used to live in France,” Dick reminded 
her, “he and the Mystery Man.” 

“Yes, the Man of Mystery! And he and Papa’s 
father and those other cavaliers, they had business 
there, did n’t they ? Jacobite plots! ’ ’ 


168 


WHITE FIRE 


Nancy fell silent, but her lively brain worked 
rapidly: plots, exiled princes, secret errands. Sud¬ 
denly she asked: 

‘ 4 Hick, is Bonny Prince Charlie living still?” 

“Why, yes, of course. I rode him to Boston and 
back. He’s in the stable now, eating oats.” 

Nancy hit Hick with his own riding-whip. 
“Prince Charlie the man, not the horse. Is he liv¬ 
ing still?” 

“Why are you so anxious to know? Would you 
rather marry him than the duke?” 

“A great deal rather. Hick, I can guess why 
you ’re going to France. ’ ’ She lowered her voice to 
a whisper. “It’s another plot! Papa’s going to 
help Prince Charlie to win back his rights, and be 
king instead of that usurper, King George! And 
he’s sending you over with secret messages because 
if he went himself people might suspect him. But 
nobody ’d think of suspecting you” 

Nancy was sure she saw Hick start, despite him¬ 
self, at the words “another plot.” Certainly, his 
expression changed. He took her roughly by the 
arm. 

“Now, see here, Mistress Know-it-all! Hon’t go 
gabbling plots and pretenders to Phyllis Temple¬ 
ton, or anybody, or you ’ll bring a hornets’ nest 
about our ears.” 

“You cross thing!” she snapped back. “I hope 
I have some sense! ’ ’ 

“Well, then, don’t bother Father about it, either. 


A MYSTERIOUS ERRAND 169 

He ’ll be ready to crack my head with his cane for 
blurting out about going to France!” 

A day or two later, Nancy espied the colonel and 
Dick seated one on each side of the library table. 
They were talking in low voices, but she caught 
something about the wisdom of sailing from Boston 
instead of Newport; there would be less talk, when 
Dick slipped off. Unsheathed between them lay the 
sword with the mystifying motto about keeping the 
White Fire burning. What could this mean but 
that her brother was going to draw his sword in be¬ 
half of Prince Charlie, “the rightful heir to the 
throne ’ ’ ? 

Another time she came upon Dick sitting at his 
father’s desk, apparently lost in thought. He 
started to his feet as she entered and, snatching up 
a handful of papers, left the room quickly. To her 
glee, however, he dropped one sheet of paper out 
of the bundle, and the instant he was gone she 
pounced upon it. Alas, when she unfolded it, she 
could not read what was written there, for the note, 
the message, or whatever it was, turned out to be 
in Latin; and the only Latin words poor Nancy 
knew were the CANDENS-VSQVE-ARDEAT-IGNIS ■ 
on Dick’s sword and the CAROLYS REX on the 
colonel’s gold snuff-box presented to one of 
his forefathers by King Charles II. But what was 
this, stamped in red sealing-wax on the paper? A 
coat of arms exactly like the one engraved on the 
snuff-box! The seal of the Royal Stuarts! Her 


170 


WHITE FIRE 


fingers trembling with excitement, she glanced from 
the seal to the signature written above it in large 
letters, with many a fine flourish: ‘‘Carolus 
Eduardus Rex.” 

“Charles—Edward—the King!” she translated 
in an awed voice. The meaning seemed plain. 
Here was her hero Prince Charles Edward, her own 
Bonny Prince Charlie, proclaiming himself king of 
England! 

A moment later Hick came back. He crossed the 
room with rapid strides, and he wrenched that paper 
from her hand. She beamed up at him. 

“If I were Carolus Eduardus Rex, I wouldn’t 
trust my secrets to a careless boy like you!” 

He gripped her shoulders. “Nancy!”—for once 
the fierceness of his scowl and his stern voice actu¬ 
ally frightened her —‘‘Not a word of this to any 
one . Promise—on your honor ” 

After this, Nancy could no longer doubt that she 
knew the secret of Dick’s mysterious errand in 
France. 


CHAPTEK X 


FUGITIVES 

D ICK was in France, and Nancy was at Madam 
Osborne’s school in Newport, with Phyllis 
Templeton. Even in those eighteenth century days, 
boarding-schools were beginning to be heard of, 
and famous among school-mistresses was Madam 
Osborne, whose name Squire Winfield’s wife had 
been buzzing in the colonel’s ear, with strong urg- 
ings that his Nancy as well as her Phyllis ought to 
have the advantage of Newport’s hall of learning. 
The colonel had had to admit to himself that her 
counsel was good. Hitherto, he had been Nancy’s 
only schoolmaster, while Lisette had trained her 
in needlework and the household arts; but there were 
some branches that neither of them had skill to 
teach. If his Dawtie was to learn all the graceful 
accomplishments and fine points of deportment that 
a young lady should have at her command, to 
Madam Osborne’s she must go; and she went. 

So Nancy had become a “boarding-school miss,” 
installed with Phyllis and two other girls in a room 
that boasted for wall-decorations a picture of King 
George the Third, and a framed sampler, a square 
of brown linen on which a former pupil had worked 

in worsted letters her name, Patience Popham, the 

171 


172 


WHITE FIRE 


date of her birth, the alphabet, the numbers up to 
nine, and a moral poem of one stanza, which Madam 
Osborne hoped would be an inspiration to other 
students: 

To save me future Sorrow, 

This Motto 111 learn to say: 

“ Never put off till To-morrow 
The Work to be done To-day. ” 

Neither of these decorations was to Nancy’s taste. 
She felt that she would detest the perpetrator of the 
sampler, should she ever meet Patience Popham; 
and, Jacobite by conviction and subject of King 
Louis of France by birth, she resented having King 
George hanging over her bed. One day a teacher, 
an ardent Tory, looking in, found his Majesty with 
his face turned to the wall like a naughty child in 
punishment, while the back of his portrait was 
adorned with a brief poem: 

King George, he is no King of mine. 

King Louis, I adore him. 

If I but had some Golden Thread, 

I J d work a Sampler for him. 

In payment for her crime of lese-majesty, Nancy 
was sentenced to spend the afternoon in solitary 
confinement, and she devoted her term of imprison¬ 
ment to embroidery—her materials, a square of 
brown linen and the gayest worsteds in her work- 
bag. 

A few days later Madam Osborne herself discov¬ 
ered that a sampler was going the rounds of the 


FUGITIVES 


173 


pupils cO the accompaniment of suppressed giggles, 
and being industriously copied on the sly. She con¬ 
fiscated it and rebuked its author. The square of 
brown linen bore the name, “Marie Jeanne Anas- 
tasie Catherine Louise Genevieve de Fontaines Mon- 
teith,’ ? and the lines: 

This Motto I ’ll learn to say, 

To save me Toil and Sorrow: 

“Never do any Work To-day 

That you can put off till To-morrow.” 

Alas for the fond hopes of Madam Osborne, it 
was Patience Popham’s moral stanza, as revised by 
Nancy, and not its original form, that imprinted 
itself in the minds of her pupils! Imprinted there, 
too, was the record of the escapades that redounded 
to the fame of “Naughty Nan” during the brief but 
lively epoch when she was an inmate of the school. 

While that epoch lasted, Nancy won the praise 
of her dancing-master by the way she acquitted her¬ 
self in the stately minuet, the latest rigadoon and 
paspy, Devonshire jig and contra-dance. Her 
fingers flew over the ivory keys of the spinet, draw¬ 
ing forth tinkly music. She learned new, fanciful 
querls and turns in penmanship, the latest embroid¬ 
ery stitches, feather-work and filigree, how to paint 
on glass and velvet, and the useful art of modeling 
fruit and flowers in wax! 

Dick, meanwhile, was a guest in the home of the 
Baron de Montemar, whose parents had sheltered 
the boy exile Jamie Monteith; and winter brought 


174 


WHITE FIRE 


disturbing tidings from England that caused the 
colonel to send his son strict commands to stay 
abroad till further notice. The burning of the 
Gaspee had been declared by certain British states¬ 
men to be a crime far worse than piracy, and word 
had come to the colonies that King George had or¬ 
dered its “authors and abettors” to be delivered to 
Admiral Montague and brought to England for 
trial and its sequel, “condign punishment.” But 
the Rhode Islanders were not easily daunted, and 
they jeered: 

“First catch your authors and abettors.” 

The royal commission met at Newport, and out 
spoke one of its members, the colonel’s old friend, 
Judge Hopkins. He stoutly denied the right of 
Britain to transport any of those culprits across the 
sea to her own shore for trial, and he stubbornly 
refused to arrest them himself or allow anybody 
else to do so. The royal commission sat and talked, 
and finally gave it up in despair and adjourned, with 
nothing gained but the ill will of all the colonies, and 
not a single author or abettor served up for punish¬ 
ment ! 

Colonel Monteith could have enjoyed a hearty 
laugh over it all, but for the fact that Rhode Island, 
plucky little colony, might have to suffer in place 
of her guilty sons. There was talk of taking away 
her rights, her liberty, her precious charter! But 
the fame of the Gaspee affair had spread to the 
South. Virginia voiced her indignation at the 


FUGITIVES 


175 


thougnt of sending Americans for trial across the 
sea, and issued invitations to the other colonies to 
join in forming committees of correspondence, and 
so preparing to stand firm against their dear but 
interfering Mother England. 

In the flames of the Gaspee another link had been 
forged in the chain that was to bind the colonies 
together, giving them strength for resistance. 
Swift-footed, terrible, as War must always be, Rev¬ 
olution was drawing nearer. 

This brings us to the year 1773, and to an impor¬ 
tant mile-stone in the life of Nancy Monteith. 

One April day she was painting, on glass instead 
of canvass, a sky-blue shepherd and a rose-colored 
shepherdess, gazing fondly at each other over the 
back of a pet lamb. Like many other talented per¬ 
sons, Nancy did not enjoy criticism; and she listened 
with a wearied and disgusted air, while Mrs. Ara¬ 
bella Marlow, her painting-teacher, pointed out a 
long series of mistakes. 

‘ 4 Oh, yes, I know the whole thing r s hideous!’ 9 
the discouraged artist burst out at last. “My 
shepherd’s legs and arms are put on the wrong way, 
and my shepherdess is a squint-eyed ninny, and her 
lamb looks like one of our little pigs at the farm! 
It ought to be roasted whole with an apple in its 
mouth !” 

“Patience and perseverance, my dear, are the 
keys to success.” With this reminder, Mrs. Ara- 


176 WHITE FIRE 

bella Marlow turned away to examine Phyllis’s 
work. 

Nancy seized her brush, and a moment later the 
squint-eyed shepherdess vanished under a veil of 
deep-blue paint! Mrs. Marlow turned once more 
and beheld the damage wrought. To the tune of 
her angry rebuke, Nancy sprang up, capsizing her 
easel and sending that long-toiled-over piece of glass, 
with its pastoral love-scene, crashing to the floor, 
to lie shivered in a hundred fragments! 

Sternly ordered to her room, she retired from the 
studio, while Phyllis pleaded: 

“Mrs. Marlow, pray forgive Nan! She’s nerv¬ 
ous and unhappy to-day. It ’s because her father 
is going to France. He sails on the same ship with 
my brother Phil, who’s going home to enter the 
navy. We ’re expecting them here any minute to 
bid us farewell.” 

Half an hour later Colonel Monteith and Philip 
Templeton, who had been spending the night at Gov¬ 
ernor Wanton’s, arrived at the school to say 
good-by, for their ship, the Queen Charlotte, was 
expected to sail before the day ended. While Phil 
took leave of his sister down-stairs, the colonel went 
up to Nancy’s room and found her undergoing a 
form of penance that had a twofold merit. Besides 
disciplining her impatient spirit, it helped to de¬ 
velop a ramrod-like erectness of bearing. Indeed, 
every girl in school had regularly to endure the 
same, not for her sins but in the interest of a 
straight back and a queenly carriage. Nancy was 


FUGITIVES 


177 


strapped to the backboard and her poor little feet 
were held fast in the stocks, while rebellion flamed 
in her hot cheeks and defiant eyes. 

The colonel unstrapped her from that hateful 
board. He released those dainty feet from bondage 
and rubbed them pityingly; and he gathered his 
Nancy into his arms and petted her, as if she had 
been a baby again! His only reproof was: 

“Fie, Dawtie, fie! You are too old to give way 
to childish tantrums.” And he was tempted to pick 
her up and carry her away with him across the sea, 
when she moaned: 

“I broke the glass to pieces, but you Ye breaking 
my heart to pieces; and that’s worse! Sailing off 
to France without your Dawtie, you cruel little 
Papa! ’ ’ 

He told her she must be patient. She must not 
tease him to take her, too, nor to tell her why he 
was going. In a few months he would be back 
again, he said, bringing Dick with him; and some 
day she would know why he had gone and see that 
it was all for the best. Nancy thought she knew 
why without being told. It was to assist Charles 
Edward Stuart to the throne of England! 

The parting was over. Nancy was to spend the 
rest of the day up-stairs in disgrace, but she was rid 
of the stocks and backboard. Better these, however, 
than the frenzy into which she worked herself. 
She began by reviewing the stories she had heard 
of Jacobite cavaliers, who had been arrested as 


178 


WHITE FIRE 


traitors, imprisoned, and executed. There was one 
gory tale about a certain daring Monteith, who had 
been beheaded in the reign of William and Mary 
for trying to bring back King James. She ended 
by picturing the colonel and Hick as prisoners in 
the Tower of London. A ghastly vision rose before 
her of their heads falling under the executioner’s 
ax. If only she could go with her father to France, 
share his danger, and, if the worst should befall, 
lay her own curly head beside his on the block! But 
if she went she might even be able to help him, to 
save him! She would implore her uncle the count 
to stand by him in his peril. She would be ready 
to throw herself at King George’s feet and plead 
for mercy for her father and brother. Her heart 
was a white-hot furnace of rebellion against the fate 
that was keeping her stranded here; and she had 
to dash away scalding tears when there came a tap 
at the door and a gentle call: 

“Miss Nancy, honey, kin I come in?” It was the 
mellow voice of Sappho, the African maiden, who 
waited on the school-girls. 

‘ ‘ What is it, Sappho ? ’ ’—drearily. 

“It” was a plum-cake and a generous supply of 
Nancy’s favorite confection, “nut-sweet,” a de¬ 
licious blend of maple-sugar, sweet butter, and 
blanched hickory-nuts. Lisette had sent this offer¬ 
ing to help soothe her darling’s grief at being left 
ashore. 

“Hat boy Pompey brung it,” Sappho explained. 
“He’s waitin’ outside de gate. Says he got a mes- 


FUGITIVES 


179 


sage for Missy. He can't tell it to nobody else; but 
it's mighty important. Better slip down de back 
stairs, Missy, an' out de kitchen door. De teacher's 
in de front hall." 

Sappho was fingering a shilling, a tip from the 
colonel to Pompey, with which her dark admirer 
had bribed her to pilot Nancy safely to where he 
waited. She escorted “Missy" down the narrow 
stairway and out through the kitchen, and kept near 
her, on the watch for possible spies, as, shielded 
by the privet hedge, the wondering girl effected the 
journey to the front gate, outside which the mes¬ 
senger was lurking. 

6 ‘ Well, Pompey, what's the matter ?" 

“ Missy, dat pis'nous rattlesnake done come 
crawlin' back!" 

“ Rattlesnake!" 

“Dat two-legged rattler, Noll Winch." 

“Oliver!" 

“Yas'm, Miss Nancy. I seen him las' night, 
down by de witch woman's house, when I come home, 
after stowin' Marster's duds aboard ship." 

“But where's Captain Terryberry? Has he 
come back from Barbados? Why did he let Oliver 
get loose?" Nancy demanded, as if Winch had been 
a real rattlesnake escaped from a box. 

“Dunno, Missy. But I ain' seen de Libely Bess 
nowhar, so I specs de Cap'n ain' back yit. But dat 
ole snake, he's back, an' hissin' out pis'n! Guess 
he must ha' jump overboard an’ tuck anudder ship 
home, Tore dey could cotch him. Missy, he look 


180 


WHITE FIBE 


like a shore ’nough pirate now! He mos’ as black 
as me, from de sun, an’ he carry a pistol in his belt 
an* a cutlass, too! Dat’s why I ain’t knock him 
down ’fore he could open his mouf. He say he 
gwine git revenge on us all, an ’ he ’ll see me hanged 
yit! An’ he swars he gwine to pay you back for 
shippin’ him off to Barbados. Marster better take 
you ’long wid him to France, Missy. ’T ain’t safe 
for you to stay round here no more.” 

i ‘1 wish he would take me! ’ ’ sighed Nancy. i ‘ But 
I’m not afraid of Oliver’s pistol! He won’t shoot 
me here at school. I’m not afraid of anything but 
the harm he can do Master Dick, if he goes and tells 
now. But, still, the Gaspee trouble’s really 
over—” 

“No, Missy, de trouble ain’t over. King George, 
he ragin’ jes’ bad ’s ebber. An’ Noll Winch, he 
gwine straight to Admiral Montague, wot was 
waitin’ to carry de folks off to England to git con- 
dime. Yas’m, Miss Nancy, ole Noll say he gwine 
straight to de admiral to tell him on Marse Dick.” 

“If only you had come earlier!” cried Nancy, 
nearly as frightened as Pompey. “My father was 
here just a little while ago. It’s time we told him 
everything. Oh, if I could only reach him now! ’ ’ 
“I come quick’s I could, an’ I done my best to 
reach him,” Pompey protested. He had sailed the 
Saucebox across the bay and under the very bows 
of the Queen Charlotte , but his plea to be taken 
aboard had been curtly refused. 

“I was gwine ter beg Marster to take you ’long 


FUGITIVES 181 

wid him, Missy,” he explained, “an* take me, too, 
an’ save me from hangup.” 

“He shall take me to France, and you, too, poor 
Pompey! You sha’n’t be left behind for that wicked 
wretch to hurt you!” It was a transformed Nancy 
who spoke. Weary and despairing when Sappho 
had tapped on the door, she was now ready as an 
arrow fitted to the bowstring, for instant flight. 

They took hasty counsel together. Then Sappho, 
who had been hovering near, acted as body-guard 
on the hazardous journey back to the bedroom, and 
waited outside the door for a mysterious something 
that Missy wished her to carry down to Pompey. 

“You ain’t sendin’ dat plum-cake home agin?” 
she gasped, when Nancy handed it out at last, with 
two more shillings for Sappho. 

“No, it ? s not the cake. It ’s only something I 
packed in the same wrapper.” 

Unaware that the package contained a small bun¬ 
dle of clothing, Sappho hurried down with it to the 
gate. 

“You better run in quick, Sapphy. I tinks I 
hears yore Missus a-hollerin \ ” Thus ungallantly 
Pompey dismissed the dark damsel, when she seemed 
inclined to linger coquettishly. 

A few minutes later, Nancy, evading even Sappho, 
escaped by the kitchen door and stole along under 
cover of the privet hedge. She was wrapped in her 
capuchin cloak, beneath which she carried a little 
bag, packed to the limit of its capacity. Nobody but 
the school cat observed her, as she joined Pompey, 


182 


WHITE FIRE 


and the iron gate swung to behind her with a clang 
that had a ring of finality in it. Up-stairs she had 
left the cake and nut-sweet as her legacy to her 
room-mates; and at bedtime Phyllis would find 
pinned to her night-cap a tiny note saying: 

Farewell, Dear Friends. I am going to France with Papa. 

Pompey was steering his young lady in and out 
among the bales of merchandise and stacks of 
lobster-pots that impeded their passage along the 
waterfront. As they rounded a promontory of 
piled-up barrels, two sailors rounded it from the 
opposite direction, and the result was a head-on 
collision. Nancy screamed. Pompey fell back 
against the barrels of dried fish. One of the sailors 
stared, then scowled, then his look changed to one of 
sneering insolence. The other stared, too, but the 
next instant a light of recognition broke over his 
face, as he touched his cap, apologizing: 

“Askin' your pardon, me lady, for runnin' ye 
down, loike the clumsy hulk Oi am! ’' 

Nancy was too badly frightened to grant him 
more than the hastiest nod of pardon, before Pom¬ 
pey steered her hurriedly onward. Oliver Winch 
and Michael O'Connor of the Gaspee! What were 
they doing here, and in each other's company? 

Pompey was sure that Oliver was on his way 
to see Admiral Montague, and had engaged Sailor 
Mike to pilot him to the commander of the British 
fleet. 


FUGITIVES 183 

“But,” began Nancy, “Mike promised never to 
tell about Master Dick—” 

“Missy, don’t you nebber trust nobody—‘cep’ 
Pompey. ’ 9 


CHAPTER XI 


AN ENGLISH GENTLEMAN KEEPS HIS WORD 

P HILIP TEMPLETON was leaning over the rail 
of the Queen Charlotte, watching a small sail¬ 
boat steering toward the tall-masted merchantman 
at anchor in Newport Harbor. On came the shallop, 
as if she was bringing some belated passengers or 
friends eager to bid the ocean voyagers farewell. 

“I ’ll be hanged if that’s not the little Saucebox!” 
Phil suddenly burst out. It was Dick’s shallop, 
and no mistake, with two young negroes for the 
crew and a single passenger, a girl in a blue cloak. 

“It ’s Nancy! Well, I declare!” Phil whipped 
off his hat and waved it, shouting: “Ahoy! Ahoy, 
there!” 

“Ahoy, dah, Marse Phil!”' came like an echo from 
Pompey. 

Nancy, standing in the stern of the shallop, waved 
as wildly as though she had been a girl Crusoe on 
a desert island, and Phil the commander of a rescu¬ 
ing ship. “Make them take me aboard!” she 
shrilled up to him, as the Saucebox came alongside. 

Phil appealed to the first officer. “Here ’s 
Colonel Monteith’s daughter. She wants to come 
aboard.” 

The mate stepped to the rail. 

184 


AN ENGLISH GENTLEMAN 


185 


“I’m Miss Monteith!” called the girl in the shal¬ 
lop. “Colonel Monteith’s daughter! Please take 
me aboard! I must see my father before he sails! 
It ’s very important!” 

“Colonel Monteith has not come aboard yet,” was 
the answer. 

“Then I ’ll come aboard and wait for him.” 
Nancy said it with calm authority. 

The officer looked amused. Now what could he do 
but comply? He certainly could not leave this com¬ 
manding little lady tossing in her shallop till her 
tardy father arrived. 

Nancy was quickly transferred from the cockpit 
of the Saucebox to the deck of the merchantman. 
Pompey came up the ladder after her, her bag and 
bundle clutched in his free hand. The mate 
shouted down to the negro boy in the shallop, to 
“stand off and on” till the colonel arrived. 

“Phil, what’s happened to Papa?” Nancy de¬ 
manded. “Why hasn’t he come aboard yet?” 

“He had some business to attend to,” Phil ex¬ 
plained, and she wondered whether any of their 
friends in Newport could be Jacobites in secret. 

She turned to the mate. “Now, when my father 
comes on board, don’t tell him I’m here, because”— 
she dimpled as she confided her plan—“I mean to 
surprise him!” 

The first officer glanced suspiciously at her lug¬ 
gage. “Are you going to England, too, mistress?” 
he inquired. 

“Oh, ladies always have bundles with them, if 


186 


WHITE FIRE 


they’re only going across the street!” She 
chuckled her own delicious and disarming chuckle, 
and the mate, like other mortals, surrendered. 

“I ’ll take care of the young lady,” said Phil. 

“Yes, he ’ll take care of me,” Nancy assured the 
officer. “He’s a friend of ours.” 

“You got the better of the mate that time!” 
laughed Phil, leading the way to a space on deck 
not entirely filled up with busy sailors or spars and 
rigging. “He took your orders as meek as a cabin- 
boy, but he looked as ugly as a sou’wester, when 1 
came aboard! And you ought to hear him bellow¬ 
ing at the crew! Did you get the better of the 
teachers, too?” he added. “I thought no girl could 
take a step out of doors without a string of ’em on 
guard, fore and aft.” 

“No girl can, unless she runs away. That’s what 
I’ve done,” Nancy confessed. “Phil, I’m running 
away to sea!” 

She read admiration in his face. He pronounced 
her of the right sporting blood. 

“Sh! sh!” she warned him. “I’m running away 
from Oliver Winch. He’s back again.” 

“That gallows-bird! Isn’t he drowned yet?” 

“No, Phil. I don’t believe people like Oliver ever 
get drowned. He’s come back vowing he ’ll be 
revenged on us all, and he says he ’ll report Dick 
to Admiral Montague! And he’s made friends with 
that sailor from the Gaspee, Mike O’Connor. We 
ran into them both just now on the wharf. And 


AN ENGLISH GENTLEMAN 


187 


I’m sure they ’re on the way to tell the admiral 
about Dick. I was so frightened I thought we’d 
never reach the ship!” In a hurried undertone, 
she told Phil of Pompey’s encounter with Oliver, 
of the faithful slave-boy’s warning, and of her flight 
from Madam Osborne’s, at which part of the story 
he doubled up with glee. 

“I’d give my head to hear the caterwauling at 
your school when they find you flown!” he chuckled. 

6 ‘If only they don’t track me down to the ship!” 
said Nancy, nervously. 

“I ’ll hide you from them,” Phil promised. “But 
what about your father? Are you sure he ’ll take 
you with him?” 

“He ’ll have to! He must. I won’t be left be¬ 
hind! I don’t care if he does say I’m safe at 
Madam Osborne’s. And Pompey’s not safe in Nar- 
ragansett. Oliver has a pistol and a cutlass!” 

“And if the fellow’s desperate he might shoot 
you through the school window,” Phil suggested 
hopefully. 

Nancy brightened. “Why, so he might! Re¬ 
mind Papa of that, Phil. We need all the argu¬ 
ments we can think of.” 

“Besides,” said Phil, “if you go back to school 
now they ’ll keep you on bread and water for a 
month for running away like this.” 

“But I’m not going back. I’m going to France 
with Papa. It’s not only Oliver; there’s another 
very special reason why I must go. I—I can’t tell 


188 


WHITE FIRE 


you what it is, but Papa needs me, though he does n’t 
know it. You ’ll help me, won’t you, Phil? You ’ll 
stand by me?” 

Phil’s chivalry was roused, also his love of a 
practical joke, particularly on one so dignified as 
Colonel Monteith. 

‘ 4 Of course I ’ll stand by you, you poor little scared 
thing! How about hiding you as a stowaway till 
we ’re out of sight of land? Then he can’t put you 
ashore.” 

“A stowaway?” Nancy’s eyes danced. “I know 
what that is! It’s a person who runs away to sea 
and hides down in holes and things.” 

“He hides in the hold Phil corrected. 

“Then that’s where I ’ll hide. I don’t care how 
dark it is! ” 

Phil’s gentlemanly instinct protested. “The 
hold’s the place for Pompey,” he told her, “but 
it’s too rough for ladies. Let’s see; where can I 
stow you ? If ’t was myself, and I could sneak 
into it, I’d hide in a, life-boat, under the tar¬ 
paulin— ’ ’ 

“That sounds cozy!” she interrupted. 

“You wouldn’t like it much,” he objected. 
“Maybe I could hide you in one of the cabins, 
though. Anyhow, the deck’s no place for you. 
Come, while the mate’s not looking. Pompey, you 
sneak down to the hold. ’ ’ 

“I knows whar to stow myself. Don’ nobody 
need worry ’bout me. By-by, Missy. Marse Phil 
gwine take good care o’ you now.” 


AN ENGLISH GENTLEMAN 


189 


Pompey handed Nancy’s luggage over to Phil, 
who, seeing the companionway clear for the moment 
and the mate’s hack turned, conducted her to the 
region of the state-rooms— 4 ‘cabins,” as he called 
them. 

The full-rigged ships of the eighteenth century 
would look like mere cockle-shells by the side of our 
modern transatlantic liners, but they had a beauty 
all their own, not to be matched by any steam-driven 
ocean giants. Their cabins, too, sometimes dis¬ 
played a surprising degree of comfort and even 
luxury, to offset the dreariness of the many long 
weeks at sea; and none could boast finer accommoda¬ 
tions than the Queen Charlotte. As Phil paused 
outside the door of Colonel Monteith’s cabin, which 
he was to share, and while he was wondering how 
long Nancy could remain hidden behind a barricade 
of luggage and under a heavy sea-cloak, in a lucky 
moment the captain’s steward appeared. Phil 
hailed him. 

“This young lady came here to see her father, 
Colonel Monteith, but he’s not come aboard yet. 
Is n’t there a spare cabin where she can rest while 
she waits? She’s very tired.” 

“Yes, indeed, I’m very tired!” Now that Phil 
reminded her of it, Nancy realized that she was 
weary enough, and her pleading voice and long- 
drawn sigh would have touched a harder heart than 
the steward’s. 

He considered. There was no rush of ocean 
travel in those days, and aboard the Queen Charlotte 


190 


WHITE FIRE 


there did happen to be a cabin not in use. He un¬ 
locked a door next to that of the colonel, and hur¬ 
ried away, leaving Nancy to take possession, which 
she did with supreme contentment. 

“It’s beautiful!” she declared. “It really will 
be more comfortable than a life-boat. How long 
shall I have to hide ! All night ! ’ ’ 

“Depends on how soon we sail,” Phil answered. 
“If we ’re tied here till sundown you ’ll have to 
stay hidden all night. But I dare say we ’ll be otf 
in an hour or so. Then, you might come out after 
dark. I ’ll rap on your door when it’s safe.” 

“And you ’ll not let Papa suspect I’m here!” 

“Not on my honor as a British gentleman.” 

“Papa’s very long in coming, is n’t he! Is there 
any danger the ship will sail without him!” 

“No, no, I ’ll see to that,” Phil promised, with 
the air of an admiral. “I ’ll go up on deck now 
and watch for him, and when he comes, I ’ll whistle 
‘Rule, Brittania’ outside your door.” 

“But, Phil, if I have to hide here all night, I’m 
afraid I ’ll be pretty hungry if I don’t have any¬ 
thing to eat—” 

Phil wheeled around. “I’m a numskull! Of 
course we can’t leave you to starve! Wait a bit.” 

He charged into the colonel’s cabin and returned 
with a basket packed with all sorts of delicacies. 

“Mother sent this along with me,” he explained; 
and he tried to press its entire contents upon the 
stowaway. 


AN ENGLISH GENTLEMAN 


191 


Nancy selected a few choice dainties, refusing to 
deprive him of the rest, but he insisted on leaving 
the basket in her cabin. She drew a long sigh of 
gratitude and bliss. 

“Phil, what should I ever have done if I hadn’t 
found you!” 

“ ’Pon my word, I don’t know! But that’s what 
we men are for, to take care of little weak helpless 
things like you,” Phil assured her with lordly com¬ 
plaisance. 

“You looked just like your twin sister ‘talking 
down’ to me when you said that,” remarked Nancy 
“Oh, Phil, I’d love to dress you up in Phyllis’s 
blue paduasoy bonnet and cloak, and see if anybody 
could tell which was which!” 

Phil’s girlish rosy cheeks became a deep crimson, 
and the hot blood mounted to the curls on his fore¬ 
head. With a muttered exclamation, a reference to 
“George” or “Jove” or somebody, he stalked out 
of the cabin. But a plaintive voice called him back. 
He half turned. Nancy stood in the doorway, pen¬ 
itent and coaxing for forgiveness. 

“I did n’t mean that really, Phil. Only I had to 
pay you back for calling me a weak, helpless little 
thing. But truly you don’t look half as much like 
Phyllis as you used to. You ’re growing so tall and 
broad-shouldered and manly! I’m sure you ’re 
going to be taller than Dick. Why, I should n’t be 
surprised if soon you were bigger even than Papa! ’ ’ 

“Get back there! The captain’s coming!” Phil 


192 


WHITE FIRE 


warned her hastily, and she had to retreat and close 
her door, without the satisfaction of learning 
whether or not her offended ally was mollified. 

Nancy nibbled the dainties and passed what 
seemed to her hours of anxious waiting for the 
whistled notes of “Rule, Britannia.” All sorts of 
noises came to her ears, telling, or so she inter¬ 
preted them, that the Queen Charlotte was about to 
sail, without that belated passenger Colonel Mon- 
teith. The nightmare thought seized her that she 
would be carried across the stormy Atlantic and her 
father left behind! Finally the torturing fear at¬ 
tacked her that he had been waylaid and shot by 
Oliver Winch. She could bear suspense no longer. 
She made up her mind to escape from her hiding- 
place and seek her father ashore. Footsteps 
sounded outside the door of her cabin—then a 
whistled strain: “Rule, Britannia!” Ever after¬ 
ward Nancy loved that tune. 

It was the close of the second dog-watch. Twi¬ 
light would speedily be swallowed up in night. The 
Queen Charlotte was heaving and rolling, climbing 
and dipping, as she rode the ocean swell. Colonel 
Monteith was pacing the quarter-deck in conversa¬ 
tion with the captain. Phil was viewing with in¬ 
terest the changing of the watch. 

Presently there was the sound of a commotion, 
and some of the larboard watch, who had gone be¬ 
low, reappeared, headed by the first mate and drag¬ 
ging along with them a captive, who was strug- 


AN ENGLISH GENTLEMAN 


193 


gling violently against their rough handling and 
whose progress they were trying to speed with 
kicks and blows. They hauled him up to the 
quarter-deck and deposited him at the captain’s 
feet. 

“A stowaway, sir,” explained the mate. 

■Captain Bowline shouted for the cat-o’-nine-tails 
to be brought, and “a thieving rascal, who ought to 
swing for it,” was the mildest of the names that 
he called the luckless wretch, who howled implor¬ 
ingly : 

“Marse Cap’n, Marse Cap’n, hab mercy on me! 
I don’ need no cat! I ain’ no ornary stowaway. I 
b’longs to de cunnel. Dar’s my marster! Oh, 
Marster, save me!” 

Colonel Monteith recognized those accents of dis¬ 
tress, and saw, as the suppliant cast himself at his 
master’s feet, the fear-distorted face of Pompey, 
who, gnawed by the pangs of hunger, had chosen an 
unlucky moment for sneaking from his hiding-place 
on a foraging expedition. 

“Why, Captain, this is my boy Pompey! How 
now, you runaway rogue! What are you doing 
here!” 

Pompey embraced his master’s knees. “Oh, 
Marster, forgive me! Save me! If I gotta be 
walloped, wallop me yourself!” 

“Stop blubbering, you idiot! Come to your 
senses, and tell me what you mean by stowing your¬ 
self away aboard this ship!” 

A sharp rap across the shoulders from the 


194 


WHITE FIRE 


colonel’s cane had a steadying effect on Pompey’s 
nerves. He recovered enough to explain: 

“Marster, I done it for de sake o’ li’l Missy. 
She ’clar she gwine to France, too, sah. So I brung 
her aboard, ’cause she ain’t safe ashore no more.” 

“What’s this about little Missy! You brought 
her here, aboard this ship ! ’ ’ 

“Yassah, yassah. Ain’t you find her yit, sah!” 

Pompey’s master gripped him by the collar and 
shook him fiercely. 

“What have you done with her, sirrah! Where 
is she now!” 

“ D-d-d-dunno, sah. But Marse Phil, he knows. 
Marse Phil done hide li’l Missy somewhar.” 

“Philip!” Colonel Monteith turned savagely on 
Phil, who had come up when the excitement broke 
out and now stood his ground manfully. “What 
is the meaning of this! Does the fellow speak the 
truth! ’ ’ 

“Yes, sir,” Phil owned up frankly. “Nancy came 
aboard long before you did. She’s resting in her 
cabin, now. Shall I take you to her, sir!” 

“By all means! Instantly! But, young man, if 
my daughter came aboard in my absence, why did 
you not speak out! You have a tongue in your 
head.” 

“I promised Nancy not to tell you, sir. I prom¬ 
ised her she should stay hidden till we were well out 
to sea. And an English gentleman always keeps 
his word.” 

“And an English school-boy generally makes a 


AN ENGLISH GENTLEMAN 


195 


fool of himself!” thundered the colonel. “Captain 
Bowline, had you, sir—had any one—knowledge of 
this—that my daughter was on board ?” 

Captain Bowline had not; hut his first officer suf¬ 
fered a painful spasm of recollection. He had gone 
off duty shortly after Nancy vanished inside her 
cabin, and in the hurry and hustle that were the 
prelude to leaving port he had had enough to dis¬ 
tract his thoughts even from so charming a subject 
as the colonel’s daughter. 

“Didn’t you see the young lady off?” he de¬ 
manded of Phil. 

“No, sir, I had no orders to do so,” Phil an¬ 
swered respectfully. 

The captain called for an immediate investiga¬ 
tion, and he looked strongly inclined to apply the 
lash of the cat-o’-nine-tails to the back of a certain 
young gentleman aboard. 

“Now, you confoundedly self-assured young cock¬ 
erel, show me where you’ve hidden my daughter,” 
Colonel Monteith commanded. 

“She’s in the cabin next to ours, sir.” 

Phil led the way, and the colonel followed, march¬ 
ing Pompey along with him by the collar. At the 
door of Nancy’s refuge he ordered her accomplice 
into their cabin, there to wait for him and mount 
guard over Pompey, whose fate—punishment or 
forgiveness—still hung in the balance. Then he 
took the lantern from the steward, who had lighted 
their path. He opened the door cautiously, so as 
not to startle the beloved stowaway. No cry, either 


196 


WHITE FIRE 


of fear or joy, greeted the glimmering light. No 
Nancy sprang up to meet him and plead with him. 
He peered into the dimness; then, hanging up the 
lantern, he crossed the cabin stealthily and stopped 
beside the berth. 

There lay a little Sleeping Beauty, and the colonel 
had not the heart to play the Prince and waken her, 
even with a kiss. Only a slight stirring, a faint 
murmur, a quiver, but no lifting of the lashes, an¬ 
swered his coming. “ Rocked in the cradle of the 
deep,” his Nancy slept on as contentedly as a baby, 
one hand tucked under her cheek; and as he bent 
over her, his lips murmured a ‘ ‘ God bless her! ’ ’ 

Suddenly he felt a tightness in his throat, as if 
fingers were clutching it, and the face he loved 
became a dim, blurred vision. He brushed his hand 
across his eyes and saw again clearly. She was his, 
and yet not his. If his jewel were to be torn from 
him— 

“Dawtie, Dawtie!” he whispered, “you must have 
your own way, and come with me now. But you 
little know the ill turn you Ve done yourself and 
me!” 

He went out as softly as he had entered; hut by 
and by he came back to make sure that she was 
warm and comfortable in her berth; and this time 
his footstep and the lantern-light disturbed the be¬ 
loved sleeper. Nancy awoke. She started from 
her pillow and held out her arms to him. 

“Dear little Papa!” 

Now was the moment for a parental reprimand! 


AN ENGLISH GENTLEMAN 197 

Knowing this perfectly well, the colonel gathered his 
naughty lassie to him, folded her to his heart, kissed 
the warm, flushed cheek, soft as velvet, then rested 
his own against the flossy tumbled curls; and not 
a word of reproof could find its way to his lips. 

“How long have I been asleep? Is it still to¬ 
day, or is it beginning to be to-morrow ?” she asked 
with a drowsy laugh. 

“It’s still to-day, Dawtie; or rather—it’s to¬ 
rn#/^.” 

“But we must be away out on the ocean! Are n’t 
we? The ship rocks so! Papa! Papa! You won’t 
send me home now?” She clung to him with all 
her loving might. 

“No,” he answered in a grave tone, but holding 
her comfortingly close, “we are too far out to sea.” 

“Then—I’m safe!” With a big sigh of content¬ 
ment, she nestled happily in his arms. “How did 
you find me, Papa ? Did Phil tell you ? ’ ’ 

He explained how the discovery had come about. 

“And you ’re not angry with Phil now, are you? 
—nor with Pompey, either ? ” she- cooed. ‘ 1 Phil took 
such care of me! And poor, good Pompey was only 
trying to save my life! I ’m the- only naughty one” 
—trustingly she smiled up at’ him—“and now I’m 
ready to be scolded.” 

“You ’re a wilful lassie,” he told her. “It was 
wrong of you, Nancy, very wrong, to run away like 
this. But you were terrified by that craven brute 
Winch, whom I ’ll see jailed yet! Aye, I’ve heard 
the whole story from Phil and that faithful jacka- 


198 


WHITE FIRE 


napes Pompey. I drew it out of the rascals. But 
why did you not tell me about that scoundrel long 
ago when he first frightened you?” 

Nancy told her father why. Then she asked: 
4 ‘What will happen to Dick now if Oliver goes and 
tells the admiral? Will he have to stay in France 
for ever?” 

“And good riddance to him if her does!” growled 
the colonel. “That boy has been at the bottom of 
all the trouble I Ve had in the last dozen years— 
except what you’ve been at the bottom of, you 
naughty little witch! But it ’s my opinion that 
Oliver will do Dick and the rest of us about as much 
harm as a braying bagpipe, that makes noise 
enough to frighten an Indian, but, when you prick 
it, has naught inside it but empty air! ’ ’ 

“And, anyway,” said Nancy, “Oliver doesn’t 
know what your business is in France, so he can’t 
tell that to the admiral. But I think I know. You 
won’t be angry with me, will you, Papa, for guess¬ 
ing?” 

“No, I ’ll not be angry. But what is your guess, 
pray?” 

“Why, that you ’re going to France on a secret 
mission, to help put Prince Charlie on the throne 
and drive out stupid King George.” 

Colonel Monteith fairly gasped. “Lassie! 
What’s this charge of high treason you ’re bring¬ 
ing against me?” 

“It’s not high treason,” his pupil in history re¬ 
minded him, “because the Stuarts are really the 


AN ENGLISH GENTLEMAN 


199 


rightful kings of England. The Georges are noth¬ 
ing but German usurpers. You sent Dick over with 
a message to Bonny Prince Charlie, didn’t you, 
Papa? And now you have to go yourself, and you 
don’t want to take me because you know you ’re 
running into danger. But if you were to be thrown 
into prison, or have to die on the scaffold, like those 
cavaliers you told me about, what would become of 
me, left all alone at home? If you go to prison, I 
want to be with you. If you have to be beheaded in 
the Tower, I want to die, too!” 

Nancy’s eyes shone with the light of loyal devo¬ 
tion and the spirit of heroic self-sacrifice. Colonel 
Monteith folded her again to his heart. He was 
overcome with emotion—of some sort. Why, he 
was laughing! 

“You ’re a brave and true little woman!” he said, 
“but you ’re daft! Whatever put that Jacobite bee 
into your bonnet?” 

“But isn’t it true? Isn’t there a plot to bring 
back Prince Charlie?” 

“There may be a dozen for aught I know,” her 
father answered, “but none that I ’m connected 
with. Na, na, Dawtie, I’m ower fond o’ my ain 
hoose and my bonny farm back yonder in the land 
o’ my exile, and of smoking my pipe in the ingle- 
nook, to risk mounting the scaffold at my time of 
life, even for your Bonny Prince Charlie, whose 
hair by this time must be as gray as my own.” 

It was a tremendous relief, of course, to hear this; 
yet Nancy burrowed, shamefaced, in her pillow. 


200 


WHITE FIRE 


“Then—Hick must have been fooling me!” 

“I warrant it, the rascal!” 

“He dropped what I thought was a secret mes¬ 
sage from Prince Charlie. He must have written 
it himself, and dropped it on purpose to tease me! 
But it had the royal Stuart seal.” 

“I happen to have a Stuart seal in one of the se¬ 
cret drawers of my desk,” said the colonel. “That 
scapegrace! I ’ll teach him to meddle with my prop¬ 
erty! So he fooled you, eh? Nancy, Nancy, have 
you lived so long in Hick’s company without re¬ 
alizing that he, alone, deserves the name of ‘ pre¬ 
tender’!” 

“Yes, and he pretended to be furious because I’d 
found the message! Wait till I meet him in 
France!” Nancy shook her little fist. “Well, 
then, if it’s not a plot, what is it?” 

“The work I sent Hick over there to do for me? 
Hawtie, I see the time has come to tell you the whole 
truth. My business in France concerns not the 
Stuarts but your uncle, your father’s older brother, 
the Comte cle Fontaines. 

“You’ve often heard me tell,” he went on, “about 
the taking of Quebec: how we marched into the con¬ 
quered city, and how I was carried wounded to the 
very place where your mother had taken refuge. 
She was an angel, Nancy, an angel of kindness and 
compassion, who could pity even an enemy in suf¬ 
fering. And as time went by I was able to be of 
service to her. I could speak her language, you see. 


AN ENGLISH GENTLEMAN 


201 


and she grew to trust me and to honor me with 
her confidence. So, at last, when she knew she 
was dying, she gave her baby girl to me, to guard, 
and I pledged myself to be faithful. 

“Your mother was dying all alone in a far coun¬ 
try; but France was her home, and she wished it 
to be yours some day. You were too wee a bairnie 
then to cross the seas, and the war-time made it 
doubly dangerous. But she bound me by a promise. 
I was to take you to my own home, along with Dick; 
but I promised to let your father’s brother know 
that you were safe. And after the war was over, 
if he wished to have you come and live with him, I 
was to take you, when you were old enough, to his 
home in France. So you see, your mother only lent 
you to me. It was not a gift for life. 

“But you’ve grown to be the light of my eyes, 
and I Ve found it hard to be true to my pledge and 
risk losing this gem of mine. I Ve been sore 
tempted to break my word of honor. I wrote to 
your uncle, as I was bound to do, but no answer 
came.” 

“And you were glad!” Nancy murmured. 

The colonel did not deny it. “Your mother told 
me of a trouble,” he continued, “a misunderstand¬ 
ing, between your father and his brother, the count. 
But she believed that at heart both had been anxious 
to be reconciled. Still, when no answer came to my 
letters, I said to myself, ‘It’s the old coldness last¬ 
ing still.’ ” 


202 


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“I don’t like that old uncle!” cried Nancy. 
“Has he sent for me now? Recause I ’ll tell him I 
sha’n’t go to him.” 

“Tut, tut, Lassie! Don’t judge your uncle till 
you’ve heard the rest of the story. Ships are often 
lost at sea, and letters are lost with them. But, 
Nancy, a promise is a promise, and my conscience 
told me that I was not fulfiling mine. So, nearly 
two years ago, I wrote to the Baron de Montemar, 
my playmate in my childhood, asking his help in the 
matter. Just before the burning of the Gaspee his 
answer came, and with it one from your uncle. The 
baron had been to see him and told him the whole 
story. The count had never received my letters. 
He had not even heard of your birth. He had heard 
that your father had fallen in battle, and later, a 
report had come to him of your mother’s death; 
that was all. Now he is anxious to do all he can to 
make up for that time of misunderstanding. He 
has no children of his own, and he wishes to take 
your father’s place and have you come and make 
your home with him.” 

Nancy sat bolt upright. “But I have you for a 
father. I don’t need any other, and I don’t want 
any other. I won’t have any one but you. Papa, 
Papa! He can’t make me come and live with him! 
My home is with you —forever. ’ ’ 

“My darling, I’ve not given you up to your uncle 
yet.” 

“And I hope you’ve told him you never will.” 

“I could hardly tell him that, Dawtie, after my 


AN ENGLISH GENTLEMAN 


203 


promise to your mother. Well, when his letter came, 
it meant that I should have to go to Prance to see 
him, or else send a representative, who could speak 
French. So I sent Dick. I could not go myself and 
leave him behind in the thick of the Gaspee trouble, 
and your uncle was giving me the very excuse I 
needed for getting the young firebrand safely out of 
the country.’’ 

“Oh, Papa, can’t you un -adopt Dick, and give him 
to my uncle instead of me? I’m sure he’d ever so 
much rather have a son than a daughter!” 

Colonel Monteith smiled. “I’m afraid your uncle 
and Dick would not suit each other very well.” 

“I ’ll take care not to suit my uncle any better, 
if he steals me away from you,” remarked Nancy. 

“Hush, Dawtie, hush! Well, to make a long story 
short, Dick has interviewed your uncle. The count 
insists on claiming his niece—on having you make 
your home with him. But I had made up my mind 
to leave you safe in Rhode Island, with the width of 
the ocean between your uncle and you, and tell him 
that before I bring you over to him he must prom¬ 
ise—and set down that promise in writing, signed 
and sealed—to make no—no important arrange¬ 
ments for your future, without my consent.” 

Nancy considered. “I think I know what you 
mean. Arrangements like—marrying me to a 
prince! I shouldn’t mind marrying a prince or a 
duke, only he’d have to come and live in Nar- 
ragansett. Papa, I haven’t spoiled your plans, 
have I, by coming with you!” 



204 


WHITE FIEE 


“You ’ve made it harder for me to carry them 
out,” he answered, gravely. “When I present my¬ 
self before your uncle, with you at my elbow—” 
“With me at your elbow, we ’ll manage beauti¬ 
fully!” she assured him. “I ’ll tell my uncle that 
I’m willing to make him a visit. Indeed, I shall 
be very glad to visit him, because I do so wish to 
go to court and see the lovely Princess Marie An¬ 
toinette. But I ’ll explain to him that I can’t and 
won’t stay with him forever; and if he tries to 
make me, I ’ll run away to sea again, and come sail¬ 
ing back to yon. There, now!”—triumphantly— 
“that’s settled. So you needn’t worry any more 
about me, poor, dear, little frightened Papa!” 

Nancy lay down again, contentedly, as if she had 
slain every lion in the path; but the colonel sighed 
heavily as he stroked her soft hair. 

“I would it might be as you say, lassie o’ mine! 
But you ’ll not find it so easy to run back to America 
from France.” 


CHAPTER XII 


BRIGANDS AND MOONBEAMS 

W EEKS had rolled by—literally rolled by for 
Stowaway Nan, to whom life had become a 
matter of trying to save herself from being shot 
from wall to wall of her cabin, or to keep her balance 
on a deck that at one moment pointed skyward, at 
the next threatened to dive to the bottom of the 
ocean, that tilted now to starboard, now to larboard, 
as if bent on lightening its load by heaving its pas¬ 
sengers into the waves! Lnckily Nancy, used to toss¬ 
ing on Narragansett Bay, had proved herself an 
able sea-woman except during the one frightful 
tempest that drove her to her berth. Phil had al¬ 
ways admired her for “not making a fuss like other 
girls , n and she had now risen in his eyes to the rank 
of a regular good fellow. The two felt like lifelong 
comrades by the time the Queen Charlotte dropped 
anchor at Dover, and Phil, met by an uncle, left the 
ship for his childhood’s home in England. 

It had been April when they sailed out of Newport 
Harbor. It was June when Nancy Monteith crossed 
the channel to Calais and set foot in the land of 
her forefathers, (< la belle France The trip from 

Calais to Paris was then a matter of days instead 

205 


206 


WHITE FIRE 


of hours, a jolting journey, over roads that were 
mere deep ruts, and seemed meant only for rude 
farm carts, never for gentlemen’s coaches or tour¬ 
ists’ post-chaises. It was by post-chaise that she 
covered the first part of the distance, stopping over¬ 
night at such towns as could offer her the hospital¬ 
ity of a convent for a lodging-place. When ladies 
traveled through France in the reign of Louis XV 
they had to put up at nunneries, for there were no 
public hotels, and the inns were impossible! Stately 
abbesses, in sweeping robes of black or gray, wel¬ 
comed their young guest graciously; gentle-faced 
sisters took the kindest care of the girl from 
America, that unknown wilderness across the sea; 
and the demurely merry pupils of the nuns gazed 
at Nancy with admiring wonder and shyly courted 
her favor, as if she had been a being from another 
world! Meanwhile the colonel and his dusky valet 
Pompey found lodgings as best they could in some 
of those impossible inns. 

A fairly long halt was made at Amiens, for the 
purpose of adding to the very scant outfit that 
Nancy had packed up when she fled from school to 
the ship. Meanwhile her father hired a messenger 
to ride with all speed to the home of the Baron de 
Montemar, announcing that Colonel Monteith was 
traveling by post-chaise to Paris but was obliged to 
stop for a day or two at Amiens. He said noth¬ 
ing about the unexpected guest that he was bringing 
with him. Explanations about his stowaway 


BRIGANDS AND MOONBEAMS 207 


daughter were not easy to make by letter, nor did 
he care to have the Comte de Fontaines get wind 
of his niece’s coming any too soon. 

By the time that Nancy was properly equipped, 
there arrived a large and imposing-looking carriage, 
a ‘ ‘berlin’ ’ as it was called, painted a bright blue, 
with much gilding and a coat of arms upon it, and 
drawn by four fine bay horses. The baron had sent 
his own traveling-carriage to meet his guest. Nancy 
was delighted to exchange the post-chaise for this 
gorgeous conveyance, but she was a good deal 
startled by what took place as they were on the 
point of driving out of the convent courtyard. 

The coachman inquired: 

“Does monsieur happen to he armed?” 

“With a pistol and a sword,” answered the colo¬ 
nel. 

/ 

“That is well, monsieur. We were warned on the 
way here that the brigands are making trouble again 
on the road between Amiens and Paris. But mon¬ 
sieur and mademoiselle need not fear,” he added 
quickly, seeing Nancy’s frightened look. ‘ ‘ The foot¬ 
man and I are also well armed.” 

“I think between us we can handle any gentle¬ 
men of the road who may care to dispute our way , 9 ’ 
coolly answered the colonel. “Dawtie, we Narra- 
gansett Indians need not trouble our heads about 
a few miserable outlaws.” Nevertheless, he ex¬ 
amined the pistol in his holster. 

“Who 9 s afraid? I’m not!” cried Nancy; and in 


208 


WHITE FIRE 


the interest of the sights she saw along the poplar- 
bordered roads—quaint old villages, chateaux with 
pointed towers peeping over the tree-tops, and 
country-folk toiling in the fields, sometimes a 
peasant and an ox harnessed together—she forgot 
to look out for brigands till the sun was low and the 
gruesome dusk not far away. 

Sunset. Nancy hoped the blush in the west would 
not fade too soon. The berlin was swinging along 
the rutty road, the all too lonely road, at a bone- 
racking rate, for the driver was bent on reaching 
the next town before night overtook them. 
Suddenly— Crack! Crack! Crack! Half a dozen 
pistol-shots rang out, splitting the stillness. Nancy 
screamed. The colonel whipped out his own loaded 
pistol. The carriage came to a jerking halt that 
flung the frightened girl against her father. He 
made her sit down at his feet, so that any bullets 
whistling in through the window would pass over 
her head. 

Four horsemen, all armed, were barring the way; 
but, the berlin having halted, they did not renew 
their firing. Their leader—like the rest, he wore 
a sword at his side—rode forward, his pistol cover¬ 
ing the coachman, who had not been prompt enough 
in taking aim at him . Behind, on the rumble of 
the carriage, the footman had his own pistol ready, 
but poor Pompey had neither firearm nor sword. 
He had a voice to wake the echoes, however, and he 
suddenly let it ring in a wild shout: 



BRIGANDS AND MOONBEAMS 209 

“Hi! Wahoo! Marse Dick!” 

“Hallo, there, Pompey, old rascal!” 

The leader of the highwaymen rode up to the 
window. 

“Father, your money or your life! and my 
apologies for holding you up, sir.” 

The response was a double one. Some traveler, 
whom he could not see, shrieked in high soprano, 
and the colonel’s deep bass voice answered him: 

“Dick, you graceless rogue! You foolhardy 
young idiot, tempting fate! Another second, and 
I’d have put a bullet through you!” 

Then up from the depths of the carriage popped a 
vision so unexpected that at sight of it the gentle¬ 
man of the road reeled in his saddle as if a bullet 
had struck him! 

“Thunder and lightning! Nancy! You!” 

“Dick—oh, Dick! You—you frightened me to 
death!” 

The highway robber doffed his hat with a sweep¬ 
ing bow. “Mille pardons , Mademoiselle de 
Fontaines! If we had known the carriage was 
adorned with your presence! This highwayman 
will now proceed to blow his wicked brains out, for 
having had the misfortune to alarm mademoiselle. 
Here, give us a kiss, old Saucebox!” 

Leaning from his horse, he kissed her through the 
carriage window. 

“You old pretender, you!” 

“Good! That feels like old times, that box on 


210 


WHITE FIRE 


the ear!” Dick, his ear and cheek tingling from 
Nancy’s sisterly salute, withdrew his head from 
the window and turned in his saddle. “ Henri, be¬ 
hold! We’ve captured a young lady!” he called 
in French to one of his fellow-highwaymen, who 
immediately rode up to the carriage door. “My 
father’s brought Nancy along with him! Father, 
Nan, let me present the notorious bandit with a price 
on his head—Henri de Montemar. Don’t try any 
of your English on them, Henri; they won’t under¬ 
stand it.” 

Young Henri de Montemar bowed low, with 
French grace, and in his turn begged a thousand 
pardons. He was afflicted beyond measure, he pro¬ 
tested, to have startled mademoiselle. Would she 
forgive him? Would monsieur? 

“We came to form an escort for you and con¬ 
duct you safely to your journey’s end, not to hold 
you up at the point of the pistol,” he explained. 
“But you were going so fast, the only way to stop 
you was to tire into the air for a warning and then 
bar the road.” 

“I would forgive your father’s son a much graver 
offense than riding all this way to provide us with 
a body-guard,” answered Colonel Monteith, cor¬ 
dially grasping Henri’s hand. “But we had word 
that brigands were infesting the road, and when we 
heard pistol-shots we thought we had run into a 
nest of them.” 

“That report reached us, too, monsieur,” said 
the baron’s son, “but not till long after my father 


BRIGANDS AND MOONBEAMS 211 


nad sent out his traveling-carriage to meet you. 
So we four mounted and rode post-haste, hoping to 
fall in with you before the brigands did. We were 
afraid, though, that you might have left Amiens be¬ 
fore the berlin arrived, and we were making 
ready to hold up any post-chaise that came by, to 
see if you were in it. Monsieur, may my friends 
here have the pleasure of being presented to you 
and mademoiselle ?” 

t4 Let us by all means have a chance to thank 
them, too,” said the colonel. 

One of the two remaining horsemen rode up at a 
call from his friend Henri, who introduced him as 
i ‘ Monsieur de Noailles.” The other held back, like 
the bashful school-boy that, in truth, he was, till 
Dick hailed him with: 

“Come, Marquis! Don’t be afraid of my sister. 
I’m the only one she favors with boxes on the 
ear.” 

Then the shy young noble advanced to the car¬ 
riage window and bowed politely, but with less ease 
and grace than his friends, as Dick presented “The 
Marquis de Lafayette.” A marquis! If Nancy 
had heard that she was to meet anything so exalted 
on this day’s journey, she would have been in a 
tremor of excitement and not a little overawed at 
the thought of the honors ahead. But now that she 
was face to face with a noble in rank only less than 
a duke, now that Dick’s mischievous glance was say¬ 
ing: “There, my lady! I’ve bagged a live mar¬ 
quis for you! How do you like the bird ? ’ ’ she found 


212 


WHITE FIRE 


him no more awe-inspiring than Phil Templeton. 
Neither Henri de Montemar nor his friend Noailles 
looked any older than Dick, and the Marquis de 
Lafayette appeared the youngest of the four; cer¬ 
tainly he was least at his ease. To be sure, he sat 
his horse with a tine, soldierly erectness, but after 
the single remark: “I’m sorry if we frightened 
mademoiselle/’ he seemed to be stricken dumb. 
The last rays of the setting sun touched his head 
in the moment that he halted, hat in hand, beside the 
carriage; and she noticed his hair, thick, wavy, and 
unpowdered—poetic license would have called it au¬ 
burn; truth pronounced it a deep rich shade of 
red. 

The introductions over, the coachman whipped up 
the horses and the berlin started on again, the four 
cavaliers riding, two in front and two behind, on 
the alert against an attack, which, now that they 
had made ready for it, w T as not destined to occur. 

“That Noailles boy is the handsomest,” Nancy 
confided to her father, “but the marquis for me! 
Hurrah! His hair’s redder than mine ! 9 9 

The afternoon of the next day saw the travelers 
and their mounted body-guard arrive at a pictur¬ 
esque white chateau surrounded by gardens and 
a park. It was the summer pleasure-house of the 
Baron de Montemar, near Paris, and not far from 
the royal palace of Versailles. 

Henri had galloped on ahead to announce their 
coming; and they found the baron and his lady, their 


BRIGANDS AND MOONBEAMS 213 


charming daughter, who was a bride, and the young 
chevalier, their son-in-law, all four waiting to re¬ 
ceive them, at the head of the flight of marble steps. 
Then came the moment when Nancy outblushed the 
rose in the bride’s hair. Uninvited guest that she 
was, her father had to introduce her to his hosts, 
and explain her presence as gracefully and deli¬ 
cately as he could. Monsieur and Madame de 
Montemar declared themselves enchanted to wel¬ 
come her. The baron raised her hand to his lips. 
His wife and daughter kissed her on both cheeks; 
and young Henri, who, with Dick and their two 
friends, had dashed off without any “by your 
leave’’ to defend the carriage against brigands, 
now exclaimed triumphantly: 

“If we have caused anxiety by our absence, for¬ 
give us! For behold the prize we have brought 
back!” 

Tired with her journey, the uninvited yet wel¬ 
come guest ended the day in a refreshing sleep. 
When she awoke in the evening, one of the 
baroness’s maids came in, bringing a dainty sup¬ 
per and explaining that madame’s orders were to 
dress mademoiselle for the fete. When mademoi¬ 
selle had supped, the woman clothed her in a white 
cloud, a-glitter with star-dust; at least that was the 
effect given by the luminous robe. Crowned with 
a circlet tipped by a silver star, Nancy went down¬ 
stairs, hand in hand with the bride Celestine, who 
had worn that cloud costume at some earlier fete , 


214 


WHITE FIRE 


but was now still more radiant in a robe of silver 
tissue with a diamond crescent sparkling above her 
forehead. 

4 ‘You look as if you were dressed in moon¬ 
light!” Nancy told her, and the shining lady 
answered: 

“I am the Queen of the Moonlight, and you are 
the Evening Star. Our festival to-night is in honor 
of the full moon.” 

Below, in the salon, they found a group of shep¬ 
herdesses in looped-up gowns of pink and blue satin, 
with rose-wreathed hats and golden crooks, and a 
band of nymphs—dryads of the forest and oreads 
of the hills—their robes of tiffany painted with pat¬ 
terns of flowers and leaves and butterflies: proof 
that even pastoral and mythical maidens had ex¬ 
pensive tastes! The Queen and the Evening Star 
led them out of doors into a world transfigured. 
Moonlight flooded everything, silvering the lawns, 
transforming the white chateau into a fairy palace, 
and making the fountains glitter as if they were toss¬ 
ing diamonds for spray. 

Out on the terrace stood a company of dashing 
young gallants with powdered hair and satin coats 
and costly buckles and beribboned swords. As 
they advanced with sweeping bows, Nancy recog¬ 
nized the four youthful cavaliers who had escorted 
the carriage on the road. The Moonlight Queen, 
who aspired to be a poetess, greeted these gallants 
with the verses she had composed, inviting them to 
enter her enchanted kingdom—the realm of nymphs 


BRIGANDS AND MOONBEAMS 215 


and shepherdesses—and choose them partners for 
the evening revel. After applauding her effusion 
they promptly obeyed; and each led the fair one of 
his choice away toward the park, where the festival 
was to be held. While Nancy was watching with 
longing eyes, the poetic Queen came up, on her 
bridegroom’s arm, with a resplendent youth fol¬ 
lowing. 

“I have brought you an escort,” said she, “to 
take you across the Enchanted Lake.” 

“Will mademoiselle do me the honor!” said a 
solemn voice. 

The resplendent youth was the Marquis de La¬ 
fayette, in all the glory of his pearl-colored satin 
suit, his red hair well snowed over. 

The Evening Star granted him the favor he 
sought, and he carefully helped her down the ter¬ 
race that she could have cleared with one light 
spring. He gave her his arm, and with the same 
solemn care he led her along, following the Moon¬ 
light Queen and her bridegroom, very much as if 
they were marching in a funeral procession. He 
seemed to have lost his tongue again, but happily 
Nancy had not lost hers. 

“Isn’t it wonderful! Isn’t it Fairy-Land!” she 
cried, “with the moonlight over everything! How 
lucky I am to be here to-night! I feel as if it were 
all for me; but of course it isn’t. They never 
dreamed I was coming, you know.” 

“I never dreamed 1 was coming, either,” re¬ 
marked her bashful cavalier. “But they insisted. 


216 


WHITE FIRE 


They told me I’d have to come to-night, whether 
I liked it or not—to be yonr escort. I mean—of 
course—I’m very glad—delighted—” 

Nancy laughed mischievously. “You look so!” 
Even by moonlight she could tell that he was blush¬ 
ing at his own blundering speech. “You sound ex¬ 
actly like Dick!” she said. “Look at that brother 
of mine, over there! Satin clothes, like a prince, 
and a pink and blue shepherdess on his arm! Dick 
Monteith, I don’t know you!” 

“Mon-teess.” The marquis pronounced it slowly, 
trying his best to master the “tli.” “Here we call 
him by his French name, Armand de Laval. Mon- 
teess; it is too hard for our tongues.” 

“And, oh dear! I can’t be Nan Monteith any 
more, either!” laughed Nancy. “Now I must be 
Mademoiselle de Fontaines—and all the rest of it! 
I’m sure you can’t equal me in names, if you are 
a marquis. I’m—” She rattled off her string of 
names; but young Lafayette retorted: 

“I can match that! I’m Marie Jean Paul Roch 
Ives Gilbert du Motier.” 

They both laughed, and Nancy asked: “Which 
of all those do they call you by? Not Marie, 
surely?” 

“No, Gilbert.” 

Those were the days of picturesque out-door fetes, 
of costume dances, and moonlight operas; and in 
the summer festivals held in the beautiful park of 
the chateau, the Enchanted Lake, to which the 
gay procession now made its way, always played a 


BRIGANDS AND MOONBEAMS 217 


part. It was a very diminutive lake, to be sure, but 
lovely as a sheet of liquid silver under the moon¬ 
beams. A flotilla of boats, laden and trimmed with 
flowers, was drawn up on the strand, and the gal¬ 
lants helped their fair partners into them, not with¬ 
out a little gentle screaming from timid shepherd¬ 
esses and nymphs in fear of a ducking. 

“You are not afraid, mademoiselle? The lake 
is shallow, and I assure you I can handle the oars,” 
declared Gilbert, assisting Nancy into the boat 
alongside that of her Moonlight Majesty. 

“Afraid!” she laughed. “Why, I Ve lived on the 
water all my life! Give me the oars, and I ’ll row 
you all around the lake.” 

Her escort was more used to horses than to boats, 
but he would have blushed again at handing the 
oars over to a girl. Besides, he could hardly be¬ 
lieve her boast. 

“Mademoiselle! You don’t mean that ladies in 
your land can handle boats themselves 7” 

“This one can,” said Nancy. “I can pull an oar, 
and paddle a canoe, and help Dick sail his shal¬ 
lop!” 

Astonishment caused the marquis to catch a crab 
at his first stroke and splash her dress, to his own 
deep confusion. 

“Mademoiselle, forgive me! I beg a thousand 
pardons! ’ 9 

Nancy laughed the more merrily. “Oh, a few 
drops of water can’t hurt a mermaid like me! I’m 
used to ocean spray!” 


218 


WHITE FIRE 


The satin-coated rowers pulled manfully at their 
oars. The dryads and shepherdesses tossed roses 
to each other from boat to boat, and, their aim being 
often poor, the moon-lit ripples became flower- 
strewn, as the flotilla circled slowly around a float, 
moored in the center of the lake and built in the 
form of a conch-shell. Enthroned in the giant 
shell sat King Neptune, ruler of the deep, while 
around him white-robed beings, representing sea- 
nymphs, sang enchantingly, to the strains of mys¬ 
terious music that came forth from somewhere in¬ 
side the float. 

When the music ceased, the flotilla glided on to 
the farther shore, where stood a pavilion, shaped 
like the turret of a castle and bright with colored 
lamps and lanterns. There a band of musicians 
was ready with flutes and violins, while on the 
turret balcony sat the Baron de Montemar and his 
lady with their guest, Colonel Monteith, overlook¬ 
ing the velvet greensward where the Queen of the 
Moonlight and her court were now to hold a dance. 
And here a cruel shock awaited Nancy. Her hosts 
had no idea that a little maiden from the colonies 
could hold her own in the stately minuet, and the 
colonel, who might have enlightened them, agreed 
with madame that his lassie was still too young to 
do more than look on demurely from the turret bal¬ 
cony at the revel that she could not share. 

The face of the Evening Star clouded over when 
she learned her fate, but that of the marquis bright¬ 
ened immediately. 



You are not afraid, Mademoiselle?” 




BRIGANDS AND MOONBEAMS 219 


“Mademoiselle, please be content to sit on the 
balcony with me, and watch,’’ he entreated. “If 
yon dance, I shall have to give you up to some other 
partner, for I—I cannot dance the minuet.” 

And he could not, the dear, lanky, overgrown boy, 
not quite sixteen, but towering above most of his 
friends in height! Notwithstanding his courtly 
training and the labors of his dancing-master, he 
was still more or less of a hobbledehoy, and pain¬ 
fully aware of the fact. So, from the balcony, they 
watched the others trip it gracefully in the minuet 
that Dick had mastered, to Nancy’s admiration and 
surprise. 

“And we used to tell him he was fit for nothing 
but war-dances! If he can learn the minuet, you 
can,” she declared. “I could teach you myself.” 

The marquis shook his head. “Mademoiselle, I 
am sure you can do many wonderful things, but 
even you could not do that. Besides, I’d rather 
spend my time exploring that great wild country of 
yours than waste it in dancing. Dick”—he pro¬ 
nounced it “Deeck”—“has told me a great deal 
about America. It must be wilder even than my 
own mountains!” 

“What are your mountains?” asked Nancy, won¬ 
dering how many a marquis might own. 

“I mean the mountains of Auvergne; that is where 
my home is, my old Chateau de Chavagniac. ’ ’ 

They varied watching the dance with comparing 
notes about his home and hers. If Nancy had the 
ocean, he had those wild volcanic mountain-heights. 


220 


WHITE FIRE 


If there was good hunting in the American wilder¬ 
ness, so was there in Auvergne. The boy marquis 
had been on a wolf hunt the last time he had visited 
his castle. Nancy’s land had the advantage in the 
matter of Indians, to be sure; but the Chateau de 
Chavagniac could boast of a ferocious hyena that 
had once wrought havoc in its neighborhood. 

“Some people say it was a gigantic wolf,” Gilbert 
admitted, “but I tell you it was a hyena! Oh, I 
dare say he had escaped from some menagerie, but 
he ravaged the country-side like a very demon! I 
was only eight then, too young to go hyena-hunting ; 
but every time I went out I hoped for a fight with 
him. To this day I’m sorry I never could catch up 
with the fellow!” 

“I’m sure your mother’s not sorry,” laughed 
Nancy; then she sobered on learning that, like her¬ 
self, young Lafayette was an orphan. 

Seldom, since he left it to go to school, had he 
found the chance to visit his old home at Chavagniac. 
Most of the time he had been too busy with his 
studies, all of which he seemed vastly to have pre¬ 
ferred to the art of dancing; but best of all he loved 
to watch a review of “my regiment.” Lo and be¬ 
hold, this boy, not quite sixteen, turned out to be al¬ 
ready enrolled as an officer in the Regiment of the 
Black Musketeers! 

“You ’re going to be a soldier, then?” 

‘ ‘ Yes, mademoiselle; for I ’ll never be a courtier! ’ ’ 

“Why not? Because you’d have to dance the 
minuet?” 


BRIGANDS AND MOONBEAMS 


221 


“Because it’s too slavish, for ever dancing at¬ 
tendance on their Royal Highnesses! 1 choose to 
be free!” 

His eyes flashed suddenly with a light that sur¬ 
prised her, and he flung back his head in a way that 
reminded her of the colt, Black Thunderbolt, pro¬ 
testing against bit and bridle! 

“I want to be free, too!” cried Nancy, “free to 
dance all night long and all the next day, if I 
choose! That White Fire makes me want to dance 
on and on forever! I wish it would keep burning 
like this every night in the year!” 

“White Fire?” the boy repeated. 

“I mean the moonlight, but of course that can’t 
be what the White Fire really means. It’s a 
mysterious fire; it’s on Dick’s sword.” This was 
a somewhat mysterious remark, and she had to 
explain in full. 

“Why,/ 9 ve heard of the White Fire! ’ ’ exclaimed 
Gilbert. “There’s some story about it.” 

But what the story was Nancy had no time to ask; 
for the dancers and the musicians had paused, and 
the Baron de Montemar turned to her, saying: 

“I overheard you telling our young marquis that 
you could teach him the minuet. Will you be my 
partner instead, and teach me, if I forget my steps? 
They are calling me to come down and lead the next 
dance, but it is some years since I have joined in 
such gaieties.” 

Moving as though in an enchanting dream, the 
little maiden from the colonies led off in the next 


222 


WHITE FIRE 


minuet, with the baron, an imposing figure in his 
black satin and cloth of gold, for her partner, and 
acquitted herself as charmingly, so he told her, as 
though she were the dancing muse, Terpsichore! 

When she had been restored to Gilbert for the 
Moonlight Banquet that soon followed, she coaxed, 
“Tell me the story about the White Fire!” 

But, alas, he had forgotten it! He could remem¬ 
ber only that it had something to do with a knight 
and a mysterious torch. It w T as so long ago since 
he had heard the legend! Why, it was even before 
the coming of the hyena! 


CHAPTER XIII 


THE COUNT AND THE DONKEY CAVALCADE 

1 A HOY, there, Stowaway Nan! Don’t sail by as 
11 if the king’s cruisers were chasing you! Come 
to anchor, and let’s see if you ’re half as pretty to¬ 
day as you were last night.” 

Dick had just returned from a fencing-bout with 
one of the best swordsmen in France for his 
teacher, and, going in quest of Nancy, had found 
her with a maid in attendance, wandering under the 
trees that bordered the driveway of the chateau. 
He put his hands on her shoulders and surveyed 
the little sister from whom he had been parted for 
nearly a year. 

She tilted her head and laughed roguishly. “You 
were having such a good time last night, I’m sur¬ 
prised you noticed me at all!” 

“Well, I did . And, what’s more, Nan, I’m tre¬ 
mendously grateful to you. I hear you crossed the 
ocean on purpose to have your head chopped otf 
alongside of mine, if I lay down my life for the 
Stuarts! ’ ’ 

“No, I didn’t,” she contradicted. “I crossed the 
ocean for Papa’s sake, to stand by him; and because 
I was afraid of Oliver Winch. I wouldn’t cross 
Narragansett Bay for the sake of a pretender like 

223 


224 


WHITE FIRE 


you! Dick, you naughty cheat of a brother, what 
was that Latin thing you wrote and signed ‘ Carolus 
Eduardus Rex,’ and sealed with the Stuart seal?” 

Dick reflected. “The Prince’s message? It 
seems to me I stole a bit out of one of Horace’s 
Odes. I had to head you off, so you would n’t guess 
what I was really going to France for. Well, the 
plot worked—better than I meant it to. And it 
proves my theory, that the cleverest girls are the 
easiest fooled. It’s because they have too much 
imagination. ’ ’ 

It was Nancy’s turn to put her hands on Dick’s 
shoulders. 

i 1 Oh dear! How high up you are! I’d have to 
stand on a garden bench to give you the shaking you 
deserve! And, my stars! how you’ve changed! 
Where’s Chief Canonicus gone to? You ’re a regu¬ 
lar Frenchman now, with your sweeping bows and 
your minuets, Monsieur Armand de Laval! ’ ’ 

Dick had changed; and the Baron de Montemar 
was to be thanked for playing the major part in the 
transformation. He had insisted that his native 
country was under heavy obligations to New Eng¬ 
land for having reared both a son and a daughter 
of France all these years, and that it was repaying 
but a small fraction of the debt to make Dick a mem¬ 
ber of his own family during that young firebrand’s 
enforced stay abroad, where the arm of the British 
law could not reach him. The baron had seen to 
it that his guest did not waste those months of exile. 
Besides learning to become an expert swordsman, 


COUNT AND DONKEY CAVALCADE 225 

Dick had been sharing Henri’s studies with 
his tutor, and had had to acquire the social graces, 
that he might not do discredit to his hosts nor to 
the ancient and noble name he inherited. The re¬ 
sult was a dashing young gallant, with the superior 
air of having viewed the entire world, and one whose 
manners had gone through a very thorough course 
of polishing. None the less, he remembered the 
people at home, and eagerly asked Nancy about this 
one and that. 

“Why don’t you ask about Sweet Cynthia?” she 
inquired. “Dick, don’t faint away. She’s mar¬ 
ried!” 

“Sweet Cynthia?” Dick tapped his forehead 
thoughtfully and frowned as if trying desperately 
to recollect that object of his adoration. “I’ve 
seen so many fine ladies since I bade her farewell, 
I’ve almost forgotten what she looks like!” 

Then Nancy gave him up in laughing despair and 
told him that she was quite sure he would never, 
never condescend to go back to poor little Narra- 
gansett! But he answered: 

“I’d give the whole of France—if I owned it— 
for a gun and a canoe and a whiff of New England 
air! It’s you, Nan, who ’ll never go back.” 

“Oh, yes, I shall, when I’m tired of visiting my 
uncle, and after I’ve been to court and seen the 
Princess Marie Antoinette.” 

“Well, then,” Dick burst out with a vehemence 
that surprised her, “if you care a sixpence about 
ever getting back to Father and me, wear your hair 



226 WHITE FIRE 

powdered when yon meet your uncle, or sit in the 
dark.’ ’ 

“But why?” she asked. “I’d rather sit in the 
sunshine.” 

“Because”—savagely—“if he sees you with the 
sunlight on your hair you ’ll be lost to us for good! 
Hang it all, Nan! You Ye growing so confoundedly 
pretty, you ’ll have to put a mask on, or he ’ll never 
give you back to us! ” 

Nancy stared at him as if he had taken her breath 
away. Hick’s remarks were not generally so flatter¬ 
ing. “After that compliment,” she exclaimed, “if 
you ever breathe the word 4 carrots’ again—” 

“Speaking of hair,” she suddenly added, 
“Madame de Montemar calls the Marquis de La¬ 
fayette ‘that great, homely, red-headed boy who al¬ 
ways looks bored at everything and acts as if he 
were tongue-tied’! But he soon stopped looking 
bored last night; and 1 made him talk. And when 
he flings back his head and his eyes flash and he says 
he wants to be free, then he’s not homely. Oh, 
Hick, what do you think! He’s heard of the White 
Fire. He says there’s a story about it, but he 
couldn’t remember—Oh, look there!” 

A carriage was coming up the drive. It was an¬ 
other berlin, and more magnificent even than the 
one in which Nancy had ended her journey. 

“Who’s coming now, Hick?” she wondered. “It 
could n’t be the king, could it ? ” 

But Hick growled, “Plague on him, it’s the 
count! ’ ’ 


COUNT AND DONKEY CAVALCADE 227 

Word had been sent to the Comte de Fontaines 
that his niece had unexpectedly arrived in France 
and that Colonel Monteith desired an audience with 
him at Versailles. But, being not a little curious 
to see this niece of his, the count had decided to call 
upon the colonel instead. 

Nancy was all in a flutter. “What shall I say 
to him, Dick! How shall I act? What’s the proper 
way to meet your uncle when he ’s a count? Shall 
I kiss his hand—or—” 

“A thousand thunders, no!” 

At sight of the princely equipage, Dick had stif¬ 
fened. He stood rigid as a bronze statue. He was 
no longer the gay French gallant but Chief Canoni- 
cus on the war-path. 

The Comte de Fontaines was looking out of his 
carriage window, and he spied the two figures on 
the lawn. He made the berlin stop abreast of them. 
A footman in gold-laced livery sprang down and 
opened its door. Out stepped Monsieur the Count. 
He was a little man, barely up to Dick’s ear; but 
what he lacked in height he made up in dignity. 
His coat was of dark rich satin; his waistcoat of a 
dull gold color, setting off a jeweled decoration that 
he wore upon his breast. His knee-breeches were of 
pearl-gray silk, with silken hose to match them. He 
wore diamond buckles at his knee and on his red- 
heeled shoes. His fine lace ruffles fell over his slim 
hands, as he descended, doffing his hat and reveal¬ 
ing the full glory of his powdered hair—or was it a 
wig? It was marvelously dressed, drawn back from 


228 


WHITE FIRE 


his brow so far that it seemed to pull back his fore¬ 
head with it, and arranged in snow-white curly rolls 
on each side, so that Nancy’s first impression of her 
uncle was that he looked like a much-decorated 
woolly sheep. Yet, when one came to study his face, 
he was more like a keen, bright-eyed bird. His thin, 
high-bred features might look sharply satirical at 
times, but just then they were softened by his kindly 
glance and persuasive smile. The little gentleman 
from the king’s palace was overflowing with good 
will. He bowed as only a Frenchman could bow. 
Dick, looking as friendly as a steel sword-blade, re¬ 
turned the salute with frigid politeness. Nancy 
courtesied her deepest, peeping up at monsieur from 
under her lashes the while. 

“I saw an exquisite picture as I came up the 
drive,” said he. “It caused me to alight at once. 
Is my happy anticipation realized? Is this charm¬ 
ing vision my niece?” 

Dick had to own that it was, whereupon the count 
kissed the vision first on one blushing cheek, then 
on the other. 

“My child!” he exclaimed. “My beloved 
brother’s daughter! Welcome to the home of 
your forefathers, of your parents! Welcome to 
France! ’ ’ 

Nancy courtesied again, but found herself as 
tongue-tied as though she had been the Marquis! 
What on earth was required of her now? she won¬ 
dered. Happily the count settled the difficulty by 
taking her hand. 


COUNT AND DONKEY CAVALCADE 229 


“Come,” he said, “will my fair niece enter my 
carriage and give me the pleasure of conducting 
her up to the chateau, where we shall have a chance 
to grow better acquainted? And you”—he turned 
to Dick—“you, whose mission it has been to help 
bring about this felicitous day, to restore—how shall 
we say it?—a lost young princess to her kingdom? 
—will you accompany us ? ” 

Dick bowed frostily and murmured some polite 
excuse. 

“As you please, my friend; but we owe you an 
eternal debt of gratitude.” 

A moment later the gilded chariot had engulfed 
Nancy and was carrying uncle and niece on toward 
the chateau. Dick glared after it. 

“Eternal gratitude be hanged!” Vengefully 
he stabbed the turf with his fencing-sword, as if pin¬ 
ning the count to the earth with his blade. “I hn a 
cowardly cur to desert poor Nan when she’s too 
scared to say a word! But I could n’t stand it. 
Packed in the coach with that old fop, I’d have lost 
my temper and burst out with something! 6 Prin¬ 
cess restored to her kingdom !* Rhode Island*s 
good enough for me, and it ’s good enough for 
Nan.” 

The visit of the count, for whom Dick had con¬ 
ceived a most unreasonable detestation, was over. 
He had left Colonel Monteith looking gravely dis¬ 
satisfied and Nancy plunged in an abyss of gloom. 
In fact, Monsieur de Fontaines was the only one 



230 


WHITE FIRE 


of the three who had come off smiling and serene. 
His niece had been dismissed before he had his pri¬ 
vate conversation with the colonel. She had re¬ 
treated to a balcony, from which post of observation 
she watched the resplendent carriage roll away, and 
she flung after it a message, which luckily her uncle 
did not hear. “I won’t! I won’t! I won't!” 

Colonel Monteith would not tell her what had hap¬ 
pened in that private discussion with the count. 
He would say only that there was to be another 
later on; for some matters were not settled yet. 
But Nancy told him of her own interview with her 
uncle; and he found her so depressed by it, that, 
after forgiving her all over again for running away 
to sea, and trying to encourage her with “Hae faith, 
Dawtie, and we ’ll win through,” he proposed that 
they take an excursion with Dick to cheer themselves 
up. 

The Baron de Montemar had again put a carriage 
at the disposal of his guests; and that afternoon a 
gloomy man, a disgusted youth, and a pouting 
maiden drove out to see one of the sights that the 
colonel remembered from his boyhood, the hill of 
Mont Valerien, with the fortress frowning on top. 
They were a moody and silent trio. To Dick’s in¬ 
quiry about the count’s visit, his father had an¬ 
swered: “We ’ll not discuss that at present. 
Nancy is a little upset.” 

Nancy’s gloom did not lift till they were at the 
foot of Mont Valerien; and then it was the sight 
of several boys leading gaily caparisbned donkeys 


COUNT AND DONKEY CAVALCADE 231 


that diverted her from her woes. The donkeys were 
for hire by any pedestrians who wished to visit 
the fortress without the trouble of climbing the hill 
on their own feet. 

“Have a donkey-ride, Nan?” Dick suggested, and 
the melancholy maiden decided that to mount one of 
those amusingly demure little creatures with the 
wagging ears would be rather more entertaining 
than to sit brooding in the carriage. 

Anything to humor her! So, while the colonel, 
pleading that his lameness troubled him that day, 
settled himself among the cushions and tried to find 
relief from his cares in a nap, Dick hired a donkey 
and, mounting Nancy upon it, trudged beside her up 
the hill. 

“I hate 4a belle France’!” were her first words, 
after the donkey had been induced to start. “I 
wish I had never come!” 

“So do I, Nan. But it’s too late to cry over 
it now. The rabbit’s in the pot, and we can’t un¬ 
cook him.” 

“That doesn’t make it any better!” she re¬ 
turned petulantly. ‘ ‘ I was a silly little ninny! ’ ’ 

“Yes,” agreed Dick, sadly rubbing the stubbly 
mane of her steed. “This donkey isn’t the only— 
I beg your pardon, Nan. You ’re not to blame. All 
of it that wasn’t Oliver’s fault was mine.” 

“Of course it was!” she snapped, “and Papa’s 
too, for not telling me why he was going to France. 
If he had told me I’d have had the sense to stay 
at home.” 


232 


WHITE FIRE 


Dick doubted it, but all he said was: ‘ ‘ Out with 
it, Nan! Tell us the worst. ’ ’ 

She faced him tragically. ‘ ‘ My uncle talks about 
putting me in a— convent /” 

“ Jupiter! You don’t mean the prating old pop¬ 
injay wants to make a nun of you? A lively nun 
you’d make!” 

“It’s not to become a nun; it’s to finish my edu¬ 
cation and learn etiquette. Etiquette! As if I 
hadn’t learned enough stupid old deportment to 
last me a lifetime, at Madam Osborne’s! But he 
says all the daughters of the nobility have to go to 
convents, and stay in them till they ’re married. 
I told him I could never endure being mewed up in 
a nunnery! ’ ’ 

‘ 1 What did the old bird say to that?” 

“He told me I’d find it pleasanter than I thought, 
and the abbesses were very grand ladies, who knew 
all about etiquette—how I hate the word! You see, 
Dick, Papa was rather slow about coming in, so we 
had quite a talk together. First, he asked me if 
I was glad to come and live with him. I told him 
I should be delighted to make him a visit, but I 
could not live anywhere but with Papa. Then his 
eyebrows went up and his mouth went down, and he 
looked so solemn and surprised I thought I’d of¬ 
fended him. And he said, as my oivn father was 
dead, he stood in my father’s place, and it was his 
duty and his pleasure to take me for a daughter. 
I told him Papa had taken me for a daughter when 
I was a baby, and nobody else in all the world could 


COUNT AND DONKEY CAVALCADE 233 

be a better father to me, or half so good! But I 
told him—so as not to hurt his feelings—that I 
would stay with him a whole year—or two, if he 
wished; but after that I must go home to Papa, for 
he would be getting old then and need me. I think 
my uncle thought he ’d better change the subject by 
that time, for he began to talk about my aunt. He 
said she would soon have the pleasure of embrac¬ 
ing me. He would take me to Versailles to see her! 
She is a very great court lady! Then I asked him 
if I was to live at the palace, too, while I was 
visiting them. He said perhaps I’d find myself a 
court lady, too, some day; but to fit me for that I 
should have to go to a convent first. I asked him 
for how long? He said, ‘Only for a year or two.’ 
Only for a year or two! Why, that’s as long as 
I said I’d stay with him! Think of spending my 
whole visit walled up in a convent, with black and 
gray nuns and abbesses around me! Dick, I should 
die there!” 

“If he claps you into a convent,” said Dick, “I ’ll 
work my way in and kidnap you.” 

Despite this cheering promise, Nancy looked ready 
to lay her head down on her donkey’s neck and cry 
with anger and disappointment. And she had be¬ 
lieved “la belle France” to be nothing but palaces 
and moonlight fetes! She heaved a disgusted sigh. 
“So that’s what it is to have a count for an uncle! 
What does he do at the palace, Dick? He’s some¬ 
thing important at court, but I didn’t quite dare 
to ask him what?” 



234 


WHITE FIRE 


“I believe,” Dick replied, “he’s the grand un- 
booter.” 

“The— what?” 

“Unbooter. Pulls oft the king’s boots every 
evening at six.” 

“Dick Monteith! My uncle is n’t a valet.” 

“Oh, it’s a great honor to haul off his Majesty’s 
boots. The unbooting is one of the grand cere¬ 
monies. The princesses, his daughters, have to put 
on court trains and come in to see him have his 
boots taken off.” 

“And is that all my uncle does? pull the king’s 
boots off!” 

“Oh, I dare say he has to bump down on one 
satin knee and serve the king’s soup at dinner.” 

“Dick, you ’re talking nonsense.” 

“No, I’m not. That’s all the great nobles live 
for, to dress the royal family, and feed ’em, and 
undress ’em and put ’em to bed.” 

“I don’t believe it! You talk as if the king and 
the royal family were nothing but babies!” 

“From what I hear about them,” said Dick, “1 
rather think most of them are.” 

As Dick and Nancy were ascending Mont Valerien, 
they met the Donkey Cavalcade coming down it. 
Now the animals belonging to this distinguished 
band were no humble hirelings but blue-blooded 
aristocrats from the stables of the nobility. The 
riders of these lords of donkeydom were ten laugh¬ 
ing girls of varying ages, and their commanding of¬ 
ficer, a lady, tiny and thin, who held herself as stiffly 


COUNT AND DONKEY CAVALCADE 235 

as though encased in armor, but whose pinched, 
nervous face wore a look of wild-eyed terror 
as she gripped her bridle with an agonized clutch. 
Apparently she expected her sleepy mount to 
break into a mad gallop, hurling her from the 
saddle as he bolted. But her long-eared charger 
had no need to take the bit in his teeth, in order to 
ease his back of its unhappy burden. He had 
merely to wake up out of his dreams and swerve 
ever so slightly, or mildly quicken his pace. What 
he did do was hardly perceptible, but it was enough. 
Suddenly, before the eyes of Nancy and Dick, the 
little lady slid from her saddle and landed flat on 
the grass! Luckily her donkey had chosen a safe 
and soft place for her tumble, and the two girls im¬ 
mediately behind her managed, by a quick jerk of 
their bridles, to avoid riding over the pathetic heap. 
She was hurt only in her feelings, but these had 
cause to be deeply bruised. It was humiliating 
enough to be unhorsed, or rather undonkeyed, in 
the presence of those lively damsels, before whom 
she had to shine as an example of dignity and de¬ 
corum ; trebly so, to hear the peal of girlish laughter 
that rippled along the line of her followers as, their 
donkeys breaking into a trot not easy to check on 
the instant, the hilarious company rode past the 
prostrate leader. 

What would the poor lady’s discomfiture have 
been could she have known that these rides on the 
slopes of Mont Valerien and her own ignominious 
tumbles would be immortalized and handed down for 


236 


WHITE FIEE 


future generations to smile over, by the pen of her 
naughty little pupil Pauline, one of the two young¬ 
est riders, whose donkeys a page in smart livery 
was leading! But while that unsympathetic laugh¬ 
ter still rang in her ears, and before the page could 
leave his charges to go to her aid, she found herself 
suddenly picked up and set upon her feet, and sup¬ 
ported by a stalwart arm, while she regained her 
composure. The stalwart arm belonged to 
Dick. 

The frolicsome troop of girls halted and faced 
about. Two of them came riding back, laughter in 
their eyes but penitence in their voices. 

“Mademoiselle, we ’re so sorry! Adrienne and 
I could not stop our donkeys quick enough to help 
you,” apologized the elder girl. 

“But you ’re not hurt, are you, dear mademoi¬ 
selle?” asked her sister. “You never are hurt, you 
know! ’ ’ 

Their governess flashed them a look that said 
plainly, “If we were not in the presence of 
strangers, I should give you the scolding you de¬ 
serve, heartless children, for laughing at my un¬ 
fortunate accident.” 

Dick asked if he might help her remount. 

“If you would be so kind, monsieur.” But she 
shot a tortured glance at the gentle little creature 
that Nancy had captured by the bridle. “He is a 
treacherous beast.” 

“Let me lead him down the hill for you,” Dick 
suggested. 


COUNT AND DONKEY CAVALCADE 237 

“You are very kind, monsieur, but do not trou¬ 
ble yourself.” 

“Only a pleasure,” be assured her gallantly, and 
assisted her to her donkey’s back. 

The cavalcade reformed in line and resumed its 
way, Adrienne and her elder sister, whom she called 
Louise, inviting Nancy to ride between them. 
Nancy, on her part, fell instantaneously in love 
with them both and could not decide which of the 
two won her heart the more—fair-haired Louise, 
with her gentle charm, as joyous and sweet as sum¬ 
mer sunshine, or dark-eyed Adrienne, a glowing 
little brunette, eager, intense, sparkling, holding 
the promise of commanding beauty, when the bright 
bud should be in full flower. 

“Poor Mademoiselle Marin falls off her donkey 
nearly every time we take a ride!” declared Adri¬ 
enne. “And the one who stops to help her always 
gets a scolding!” 

“That’s because her feelings are hurt,” Louise 
explained to Nancy. “Our governess is very sensi¬ 
tive, and it mortifies her so to tumble and then have 
us all laugh at her! It is very rude of us, too; but 
really we can’t help it! And we love her, if we do 
laugh, don’t we, Adrienne?” 

“Of course we do!” cried the younger sister, 
“and none of us mind her scoldings.” 

Here Dick, champion of the timid governess, 
called back in English: “Nancy! This lady is 
troubled because she thinks she’s cutting short 
your ride. But you don’t care, do you?” 


238 


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“Of course no't!” returned Nancy, vastly pre¬ 
ferring the company of other girls to the study of 
the fortifications on the hill. 

Louise and Adrienne turned to her in wide-eyed 
amazement. 

“Why, you ’re speaking English, aren’t you?” 

“Yes,” she answered, “we ’re from the British 
colonies, my brother and I. I’ve just come all the 
way from America.” 

Adrienne started joyously in her saddle and 
clapped her hands with the bridle between them. 
“You are the count’s niece!” she cried. “You are 
Anastasie de Fontaines! You must be!” The 
beautiful dark eyes were shining with excitement. 

“Why, yes, I am; but how do you know my 
name ? ’ ’ 

“Louis told us.” 

“Our cousin Louis de Noailles,” Louise put in. 
“He came out to-day to our grandfather’s, just as 
we were ready for our ride. He told us how he and 
his friend Gilbert—the Marquis de Lafayette, you 
know—and Henri de Montemar, and—your brother, 
you call him?” 

“Dick; he’s my adopted brother, and”—with a 
laugh—“he’s just as bad as a real one!” 

“Louis told us how the four of them rode off to 
protect your coach against the brigands,” Louise 
went on, “and about the Moonlight Fete, and how 
you danced the minuet with the baron! ’ ’ 

“And Mama—what do you think Mama said?” 
Adrienne interrupted. “She said you must be the 


COUNT AND DONKEY CAVALCADE 239 


daughter of her dear, dear friend Marie Anastasie 
de Beauvilliers, who married the Comte de Fon¬ 
taines *s brother and went to live in New France!” 

Nancy in her turn showed wide-eyed wonderment. 
‘ 6 Did your mother know mine f ’ 9 

“Yes, at the convent, when they were girls, she 
says. Oh, Louise, to think of our meeting Anas¬ 
tasie de Fontaines here, on Mont Valerien! How 
good it was of Mademoiselle Marin to tumble off her 
donkey just when she did! Mademoiselle! Made¬ 
moiselle Adrienne rode up to the side of her 
governess. “She is Anastasie de Fontaines, whom 
Louis told us about!” 

The little lady was beginning to find out that fact 
herself. Surprised to hear her knight speak Eng¬ 
lish, she was questioning Dick, who was in the 
midst of enlightening her when her pupil came up, 
excited, radiant. 

Then and there the Donkey Cavalcade had to halt 
again, while Mademoiselle Marin went through the 
ceremony of a formal introduction. Louise and 
Adrienne and their little sisters, Clotilde, Pauline, 
and Rosalie, turned out to be the daughters of the 
Due d’Ayen and granddaughters of the great 
Marechal de Noailles. The five other girls, sharers 
of their picnics and donkey-rides, were demoiselles 
of the noble houses of Saron, Pons, and Mont- 
mirail. 

“But your brother did not call you * Anastasie,’ ” 
Adrienne said to her new friend, as the party con¬ 
tinued its progress downhill. “He called you—” 


240 


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“ ‘Nancy.’ That is my English nickname. You 
must call me ‘Nancy,’ too. I feel strange when 
people say ‘Anastasie.’ ” 

“ ‘Nancy,’ ” Louise and Adrienne repeated. 
“Yes, we will call you ‘Nancy.’ ” And their soft 
French accent gave the name a new charm. 

They chatted eagerly with the girl from the British 
colonies, and each moment the friendship grew. 

Suddenly Nancy exclaimed, “But you are not in 
a convent!” 

“No, why should we he?” asked Louise. “We 
live at home with our mother and our governess. ’ ’ 

“But my uncle told me all the daughters of the 
nobility had to be in convents,” Nancy objected. 

“Not quite all; for look at ourselves!” laughed 
Louise. 

“He says he’s going to put me in a convent!” 
flamed Nancy. “But I ’ll die if I have to be shut up 
in one! I’m used to being free.” 

“Why does he need to put you in one?” demanded 
Adrienne. “Why can’t you have a governess, as 
we do?” 

“But she would be a good deal lonelier than in a 
convent. She would have nobody to share her les¬ 
sons,” said Louise. 

“Let her come and share ours, then!” Thus 
promptly did Adrienne settle the question. “Oh, 
Nancy, you must come and visit us as soon as we 
go back to Paris. We are staying with our grand¬ 
father in the country just now, but next week we 


COUNT AND DONKEY CAVALCADE 241 


go home. And we ’ll ask Mama to invite you to 
make us a visit. Won’t we, Louise?” 

“Yes, indeed!” her sister promised. “And I 
know Mama is longing to see you, Nancy.” 

“You ’ll come, won’t you?” coaxed Adrienne. 

Would she? This meeting on Mont Valerien had 
had magic power to drive away the clouds of gloom. 
The nightmare vision of the convent seemed to 
fade before the vivid, joyous reality of these girls, 
who claimed her as one of themselves, whose mother 
had known and loved her mother! 

Louise and Adrienne were true to their word. A 
week later Madame de Montemar took her young 
guest to the Hotel de Noailles, as the home of the 
five sisters was called, and left her for the day in 
the care of the Duchesse d’Ayen and her daughters. 
The Hotel de Noailles! Those French grandees 
called their fine Paris dwellings their hotels, and 
this one— “Why, it’s not a house,” Nancy re¬ 
ported on her return. “It’s so big it’s almost a 
town!” The palatial home did indeed cover an 
enormous space. It had its hasse cour and its 
inner court and its court of honor. It had its 
guard-room and its salle de dais, that magnificent 
hall of state with a dais fit for his Majesty to sit 
enthroned upon. The mansion in fact contained 
everything that a palace ought to boast, and a splen¬ 
dor that royal palaces frequently lacked. 

And the garden! Call it rather the stretch of 
enchanted country inclosed by four walls to hide it 



242 


WHITE FIRE 


from the world at large, and set down by magic in 
that city from which gay French lords and ladies 
hated to tear themselves away, even in summer-time. 
The Duchesse d’Ayen loved the country, but she 
loved her garden, too; and no wonder! Never had 
Nancy seen such flowers or breathed such perfume¬ 
laden air. Never had she strolled through paths 
so beguiling, bordered as they were by trim hedges, 
and—winding alluringly—lanes of romance that she 
spent the morning hours exploring, her guides the 
happy sisters who lived in this real-life wonderland. 
They and their guest roamed under the shadow of 
those trees—three rows of them—that swept the 
walks and flower-beds with cooling shade, and ri¬ 
valed in glory her own New England oaks and 
maples. But where did this paradise end? It swept 
on and on till only a wall divided it from the gardens 
of the royal palace of the Tuileries, bounded in their 
turn by the sunlit river. 

The river was no longer sunlit by afternoon. A 
shower was threatening, but little did Nancy care! 
By that time she was one of a happy, confidential 
group in a room that, as she looked back upon it 
in after years, seemed to her a sacred place, almost 
a shrine. It was not the splendor but the love she 
found there that hallowed it. She was in the bed¬ 
room of the Duchesse d’Ayen. It was hung with the 
richest crimson damask silk, embroidered with gold. 
The canopied bed was regal. It might have been 
made for an empress, and Nancy thought a sense of 


COUNT AND DONKEY CAVALCADE 243 

awe would keep her awake should she ever have to 
rest on so august and grand a couch. Yes, it was 
a stately and impressive room; yet there was an at¬ 
mosphere of truly homelike coziness about the spot 
where the duchess sat in her berg ere, her great 
crimson arm-chair, with the little table that held her 
books and knitting, on one side, and, on the other, 
their chairs drawn close, Nancy, Adrienne, and 
Louise, and at their feet the three younger girls, 
quiet Clotilde, wilful, tempestuous little Pauline, 
happily peaceful for the time, and demure wee 
Rosalie. 

“Mama has six daughters to-day!” exclaimed 
Adrienne, giving Nancy’s hand an affectionate 
squeeze. “How good I am to let you sit next to 
her, and not quarrel with you, my new sister! ’ ’ 

“How good 7 am, you mean, Adrienne,” Louise 
corrected; “for it was really my turn and not yours 
to sit beside her. We always squabble to decide 
which one shall sit next to Mama,” she explained to 
their guest, who held the coveted place. 

The duchess smiled. “It is a very gentle, play¬ 
ful quarrel, but it is always the introduction to our 
after-dinner talks—except to-day. There is no dis¬ 
pute to-day, for everybody agrees that this place 
is yours by right, my little Anastasie.” 

“Yes, it’s high time that a girl who has never 
had a mother to sit next to should have one now,” 
declared Louise. “We ’re not the least bit jealous 
of you, Nancy dear.” 


244 


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“Our Nancy has some question that she wishes to 
ask,” said her mother. “I can read it in her eyes. 
What is it, my dear? Tell me.” 

“Madame, if my uncle puts me in a convent to 
learn etiquette, shall I ever have any chances to see 
Louise and Adrienne, or will they keep me walled in 
all the time like a nun?” 

The duchess laughed the softest, prettiest little 
laugh. “Dear child, you will have many chances to 
see them. Pupils in convents are not treated as if 
they had taken the veil. They are allowed their 
little pleasures, their fetes and holidays. Why, a 
convent is a very happy place, as your sweet mother 
and I found out, for we spent most of our childhood 
in one. Why is the thought of going to a convent 
so terrible to you, cherie?” 

“It is so—so different from what I expected,” 
faltered poor Nancy. “I thought—” But it seemed 
foolish in the presence of these girls, who led so 
quiet a home life, to tell of her hopes of enjoying 
court gaieties before she had learned court etiquette. 
“I should be like a wild bird in a cage,” she pro¬ 
tested. 4 ‘ I should be like the oriole I tried to tame. ’ ’ 

“The oriole?” 

“Yes, madame. It is a beautiful bird that we 
have in the colonies. Its wings are glossy black, 
and its body is golden orange. One year, when the 
orioles came north to visit us, I saw one being chased 
by two other birds. They drove it against one of 
our windows. It struck the glass and fell. I 
thought it was dead, but when I picked it up I could 


COUNT AND DONKEY CAVALCADE 245 

feel its tiny heart beating. I brought it indoors and 
fed it with drops of cherry wine, and it soon felt 
better and began to hop about on the floor. I tried 
to make a pet of it; but as soon as it was quite well 
again it began to beat itself against the window- 
panes, trying to break through the glass and get 
free. We were afraid it would beat itself to death. 
So I had to open the window and let it fly away from 
me. Oh, how glad it was to be free!” 

“And you would be like that oriole?” said the 
duchess. “No matter how kind the good sisters in 
the convent might be, you would beat your wings 
against the window-panes?” 

“Yes, madame. But, of course, if Louise and 
Adrienne were there with me, that would be dif¬ 
ferent.” 

“I am afraid I could not spare my daughters,” 
began the duchess. 

Adrienne suddenly threw herself on her knees 
before her mother. Clasping her with loving, coax¬ 
ing arms, she looked up into her face appealingly, 
a burning intensity in the great dark eyes. 

“Mama, why cannot Nancy come and live here 
with us, and really be your daughter and our sister? 
She could share all our lessons and our holidays 
and picnics and good times, and our talks with you! 
We would make her so happy, she would have no 
chance to be homesick. And you could teach her 
etiquette better than any abbess! Mama, dear 
Mama, do arrange to have her come and live with 
us! Please, please do!” 


246 


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“My dear child—” Used as she was to her im¬ 
pulsive Adrienne, the suddenness of this proposi¬ 
tion rather took Madame d’Ayen’s breath away. 
“You forget, dear,” she said, “that our Nancy be¬ 
longs to the Comte de Fontaines. 7 have no power 
to arrange his affairs for him. Besides, he might 
not be as pleased to spare his niece to us as we 
should be to have her come.” 

“If he would not like it, then he must be a cruel, 
heartless man!” cried Adrienne. 

“Hush, my child; be careful! Remember you 
are speaking of Nancy’s uncle.” 

“Yes, Mama. And I’m quite sure he would be 
glad to have her live with us, unless he is cruel and 
heartless.” 

Louise leaned across Nancy, to nestle a coaxing 
hand in that of the duchess. Her soft eyes were 
as full of appeal as Adrienne’s. “And poor Nancy 
has never had a mother!” she said. “She does 
not know what it means to have one, and how can 
she ever know unless she comes and lives with you? 
Oh, I don’t see how a girl can live without a mother 
to tell everything to! Mama dear, do ask her uncle 
to let her come! ’ ’ 

“And Mademoiselle Marin ought to be delighted 
to have her!” put in the artful Adrienne, as if read¬ 
ing a doubt in her mother’s mind. “You see, Nancy 
can teach us English! And it’s so important in 
these days to learn English, isn’t it, Mama?” 

“Nancy looks very much amazed at all this!” 
said their mother. “You have not asked her how 


COUNT AND DONKEY CAVALCADE 247 

she would like to live with us. Perhaps she would 
beat her wings against our window-panes.’’ 

Adrienne turned anxiously to her guest. ‘ ‘ Oriole! 
You would not call our home a cage?” 

4 ‘Oh, no, indeed!” burst out Nancy. “I’d 
love—” She stopped. It would not do to accept an 
invitation before it was given. But her wistful eyes 
spoke for her; she was like a little pilgrim peeping 
in longingly through the gates of paradise. 

The eyes of the duchess met hers with a look, 
searching and tender. 

“Little daughter of my own dear friend, I see 
your mother in your face!” 

The heart of the Duchesse d’Ayen was filling with 
a passionate desire to take this girl and shelter her, 
teach her, guide her, give her in full measure a 
mother’s loving, understanding sympathy. But all 
she said was: 

“Wherever you are to be—in a convent, or— 
nearer us—I shall count you as one of my own 
daughters. When you are lonely or troubled, my 
little Anastasie, remember you have a mother wait¬ 
ing here.” 

A strange woman, this Duchesse d’Ayen, so 
thought her friends in the gay world of Paris and 
Versailles! “Born in the purple,” as the saying 
goes, married to the heir of the great house of 
Noailles, which stood second only to royalty in rank 
and power, princely pomp and the glitter of court 
life held no charms for her. Her glory was her 
motherhood: her kingdom, home. Her daughters 




248 


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found in her their best-loved companion, wisest 
teacher, tenderest guide; and in after life well did 
they repay her care! Her gentle Louise and ardent 
Adrienne were to win better fame than that ac¬ 
corded to mere brilliant wit or conquering beauty, 
by the glorious courage, the steadfast faith they 
showed in the terrible days that were coming upon 
France. But as yet those days were in the far fu¬ 
ture and happily veiled from their mother’s eyes. 
As yet her world was peaceful, disturbed only by 
problems for the welfare of her girls, problems that 
stretched beyond the home and included their young 
cousin, Louis de Noailles, and the orphan Marquis 
de Lafayette, to whom her mother heart went out as 
to a son. Now she was adding a new problem to 
her list, that of the little wild bird from across the 
sea, Nancy, whom the duchess and her daughters 
called from that day forth their “Oriole.” 


CHAPTER XIV 


THE GRAY WOLF 

D ICK had vanished. The trouble began with his 
setting out dutifully to keep a promise made 
to Lisette, the year before, to pay a visit to the vil¬ 
lage where she had been born and bring her back 
news of her childhood’s home. He had set out by 
post-chaise, with Pompey and a lackey lent by the 
baron in attendance. He should have been back 
again within the week, but on the date of his ex¬ 
pected return the lackey arrived alone. No Dick, 
no Pompey! Instead, a note to the colonel from his 
son explaining that he was starting forth on horse¬ 
back to visit the home of his own ancestors, the 
Lavals. Strange tidings these, for when any one 
had urged him to make the acquaintance of his cousin 
Armand de Laval, Baron de Sancy, and the rest of 
his kith and kin in France, he had flashed out in 
proud defiance: “They scorned my father for tak¬ 
ing a bride with Indian blood—as good as their own; 
and all my life they Ve paid no heed to me. 1 ’d 
scorn to pay heed to them.” Now, however, a crav¬ 
ing had seized him to explore the region whence his 
own unremembered father had sprung; and his In¬ 
dian blood was clamoring to break away from the 

life where one had to play the exquisite gentleman 

249 


250 


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from morning till night, and seek the freedom of 
the wilds. So, his pledge to Lisette fulfilled, Dick 
broke loose. 

Somewhere he hired two horses, and, alone with 
Pompey, he rode forth on his quest, a youthful 
knight-errant, with a darky boy for his squire. He 
saw much to amuse him on that long southward 
journey, but also much to make him burn with indig¬ 
nation. Those ancient towns, romantic chateaux, 
and quaint small villages were delightfully pic¬ 
turesque; but how different from the tall, straight, 
splendid New Englanders were those dark, stunted 
peasants, growing old before their time! Some 
seemed contented enough, a few even prosperous, 
but many wore a look of dull misery; and when he 
and Pompey, their rations gone, paid for a bit of 
peasant fare, they found it to be sour black bread 
and a vile drink made of water poured on the lees 
and husks of barley or rye. 

Once a herd of deer dashed across their path, and 
the young farmer who was guiding them shouted, 

4 ‘There goes the nobility!” 

“Why the nobility?” asked Dick. 

“Because, sir, the deer, like the nobles, have all 
the privileges. They overrun our farms and browse 
where they please; but the man who dares fire a 
shot at one is like to be shot himself! For the deer 
must be kept for my lord of the chateau, when he 
comes to his home once a year to hunt. And ’t is 
the same with the rabbits and the birds that destroy 
our crops. No one is allowed to punish the little 


THE GRAY WOLF 251 

thieves. They are for his lordship to shoot at his 
pleasure.’ ’ 

That was the story over and over again; but 
often, Dick found, as he rode on his way, the lord of 
the chateau was a ruined man himself, he and his 
peasants alike poor and miserable, though they 
toiled and paid burdensome taxes, while he proudly 
loafed and paid none. And often there was not so 
much as a crumbling castle or a peasant hovel to 
be seen, but only miles of desolate heath and barren 
moor. So he and his faithful squire journeyed on, 
sometimes sleeping on Mother Earth, till at last 
they found themselves in mountainous country, 
among purple hills, whose peaks pierced the clouds. 
Sleeping giants, these, dead volcanoes, whose craters 
no more belched forth flaming lava, but whose stern 
grandeur Ailed Dick with a strange new exhilara¬ 
tion. He was in Auvergne now, that land of frown¬ 
ing mountains and smiling valleys, nearing his fore¬ 
fathers’ home. 

It was in this volcanic region that a dark-browed 
miner, pickax in hand, gave him the warning, “ Be¬ 
ware the Gray Wolf.” Dick could not understand 
what more the fellow said, for he spoke the patois 
of the men of Auvergne. Well, no doubt there were 
plenty of wolves in those dark forests; but Dick 
meant to keep to the highroad, and the thought of 
roaming wild beasts did not trouble him. 

Keep to the highroad? But he soon discovered 
that he could not. He was told that the hamlet over 
which his family chateau of Sancy kept guard lay 


252 


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somewhere yonder among the hills, and presently 
he found himself in a puzzle which way to turn. 
To help him out, up came a peasant lad who seemed 
to understand his question, for he nodded and 
grinned when Dick named the village so hard to find, 
and, on being promised a silver coin, he showed 
himself ready enough to be the lost travelers’ guide. 
He led the two horsemen up a steep bridle¬ 
path to the opening of a pass between the hills. 
BJack crags formed the gateway through which 
they entered. He guided them along the pass, nar¬ 
row and wild, surely rich in gruesome legends of 
werwolves and robber hordes. 

Awesome, indeed, the loneliness, making Pompey 
see bogies in every shadow and feel for the new 
rabbit’s foot that he wore about his neck. Sud¬ 
denly he uttered a cry, a bellow of horror! At the 
same time Dick started in his saddle. Both clapped 
their hands to their loaded pistols, but, though they 
drew them from their holsters, neither had a chance 
to fire. The muzzles of at least a score of shot¬ 
guns, pistols, and blunderbusses were pointing at 
them with deadly aim. As if the treacherous 
peasant lad had been a magician to conjure them up, 
a band of wild, dark-faced mountaineers had sprung 
forth from their ambush behind the fir-trees and 
rocks, and out of the caves where they had lurked 
like beasts of prey. 

Against such odds it would have been useless to 
fight. That would have meant being riddled with 
shot and dead in an instant. Three or four of the 


THE GRAY WOLF 


253 


ruffians dragged Dick from his horse, disarmed him, 
and bound him. Two others pounced on Pompey, 
threw him to the ground, relieved him of pistol and 
knife, and pinioned him securely. Having put him 
beyond the power of struggling, they exhibited him 
as a rare prize, and their comrades crowded around 
the prisoner whose face was of so strange a hue. 
“Black! Black!” They pointed excitedly at the 
uncanny creature, whose rolling eyeballs, and teeth 
bared to show that he would bite them if he could, 
made him look like some demon of the mountains, as 
he and Dick stood bound before the tallest of the 
gang, evidently the bandit chief. 

Lean and sinewy, with a shaggy black mane and a 
wild black beard, this leader wore a wolf’s yellow- 
gray pelt for a coat, the paws dangling, and the skin 
of the savage head hanging from his shoulders like 
a cape. He wore wolf-skin breeches, too; in short, 
he might have been one of the legendary werwolves, 
in process of changing from human being to carniv¬ 
orous beast! Some of his followers had copied his 
fashion in dress; others were evidently sporting the 
clothes, begrimed and ragged now, of the well-to- 
do victims they had captured. There was even a 
display of gold lace, badly frayed and tarnished; 
and if poor Dick had been in a mood for amusement 
he might have enjoyed a good laugh over the extraor¬ 
dinary taste his captors showed in their costumes. 
The variety of the arms they carried was as great as 
that in their garb; and the chief now added Dick’s 
pistol and sword to his own blunderbuss and the 


254 


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battered blade at his side. The only weapons 
left to the prisoners were their own wits, and 
Dick felt at first that his were scattered by the 
shock of the unexpected attack. He rallied them as 
best he could, and, with set teeth and every muscle 
tense, sullenly haughty, he stood before the bandit 
chief. That shaggy mountaineer had a scowl for 
him, which he returned with interest, but a humorous 
stare for Pompey. The man bellowed something in 
that puzzling patois to the young rascal who had led 
them into the trap; yet when he spoke to the pris¬ 
oners it was in French as uncouth as his looks, but 
still such as Dick could understand. 

i ‘Name of a dog! You are not the game we were 
seeking! Where ’s the fat thief who wrings taxes 
out of starving peasants ? ’Twas he and his money¬ 
bags we were after. Eh, well, you ’re some sort of 
a lordling—that’s plain; and as such you must 
pay toll.” He glowered at Dick, then turned to 
Pompey. ‘‘Ha, you ’re a rare bird for our game- 
bag! Say, then, Master Black-as-a-Crow, are you 
man or hobgoblin?” 

“He speaks no French,” Dick explained. “He’s 
my servant; but I’m neither a little lord nor a great 
one. I’m a stranger here, and much good will the 
capture of me do you, Monsieur the Brigand!” 

“Lordling or no, I warrant there’s that in your 
purse will buy hungry fellows like ourselves a num¬ 
ber of good dinners. So, my fine gentleman, you 
will have to come along with us.” 

The bearded leader roared an order to his equally 



“You are not the game we were seeking! 












THE GRAY WOLF 


255 


shaggy men. Dick and Pompey were then blind¬ 
folded and marched, or rather pushed and hauled, 
up an ascent that seemed to them almost perpen¬ 
dicular. 

“Is that you, Pompey?” 

“Yassah, Marse Dick. Dat ’s me, rabbin’ shoul¬ 
ders wid you. But I can’t see you.” 

“Pompey, old fellow, I’m sorry! I never meant 
to get you into this mess!” Dick’s voice was bit¬ 
terly penitent. He hated himself for the foolhardi¬ 
ness that had run them both into what promised to 
be a death-trap; and he loved his Faithful Shadow 
for not saying, “I done tol’ you so.” 

“Marse Dick, wot you tink dey gwine do to us? 
Shoot us, or hang us, or skin us alive?” 

“Whatever they do, Pompey, don’t show the white 
feather, or you ’re lost. Brace up, boy, and no mat¬ 
ter how scared you feel don’t let them see it. If 
they tie a rope around your neck or poke a gun- 
muzzle in your face, laugh and swagger. It’s your 
only chance. Understand?” 

“Yassah, I understan’. We bofe on us scared 
stiff, but we dassent show it. But, Marse Dick, if 
we don ’ nebber git home no more, how de cunnel an ’ 
li’l Missy gwine find out whar we’s gone to? Wot 
dey gwine do ’bout it?” 

“Never say die, Pomp! We will get home—some 
day—if we keep our wits about us. I ran you into 
this, and it’s my business to get you out again. 
Only keep up a stout heart, my man!” 

“Shore, Marse Dick. When yore heart feels 


256 


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like a chicken, dat’s de time to ro’ like a lion!” 

Here the two prisoners were forcibly separated. 
The climbers had to go single file, and Dick and 
Pompey felt themselves dragged over rocks, and cut 
and bruised in the process. Upward, alwhys up¬ 
ward; driven, hauled, boosted! For all his brave 
assurances to his fellow-captive, Dick doubted much 
that either of them would live to see the morrow’s 
sun rise; but something told him that, however down¬ 
hearted he might feel, his best hope lay in a show 
of cool bravado. And his twofold inheritance came 
to his aid: the spirit of those Indian forefathers, 
taught to bear unflinching the worst tortures that 
savage enemies could inflict; and the spirit of those 
soldierly French seigneurs, gay and haughty and 
debonair, who knew how to meet death with a laugh 
and a jest. 

At last the climbing ceased; and the prisoners 
found themselves being led along what must have 
been a second mountain pass, much nearer the clouds 
than the first. By and by there came another lad¬ 
der-like stretch, where they were pushed and hauled 
upward again. Finally they halted, the bandits 
having, it seemed, reached their lair. They were 
standing on level rock. A breath of warm air, 
fanned their faces. They could smell smoke and, 
mingled with it, a fragrance grateful enough to 
famished travelers, the scent of cooking meat. The 
next moment their blindfolds were removed. Blink¬ 
ing, they stared about them. They were in an open 
space, on a wide shelf of rock. On the one hand it 


THE GRAY WOLF 


257 


overlooked a dizzy precipice; on the other, they saw 
the yawning month of a cave; while above rose 
craggy heights that would have daunted even a 
mountain goat! In the center of the rock plateau 
a tire was burning, and over it hung a gigantic bat¬ 
tered iron pot, superintended by a brigand, who 
had not joined in the capture. 

Arrived at this lair, the robber horde promptly 
stripped their prisoners of whatever pleased their 
fancy. Dick’s coat and hat, watch and purse, went 
the way of his horse and sword and pistol; and 
Pompey snarled and snapped like an angry dog when 
his own precious livery was torn from his back. 
The plundering over, the chief looked his victims 
up and down, as if rather pleased with the young 
master for his smile of haughty contempt and with 
the black henchman for his threatening display of 
teeth. 

“Ha, you did not like our rough welcome. But 
you brought it upon yourself, my lordling. You 
marched very prettily into our trap. What made 
you choose Werwolf Pass for your ride!” 

“We chose it,” Dick answered defiantly, “be¬ 
cause, in the country that I come from, when a 
lost traveler asks the way, he finds honest men to 
guide him, not liars and traitors.” 

“And what part of the kingdom is that where the 
trusting fools grow!” sneered the outlaw. 

“No part of the kingdom. I’m a stranger here, 
as I told you. I come from across the ocean, and 
thought to find French manners more polite.” 


WHITE FIRE 


258 

l 

The bandit’s chuckle sounded oddly like a growl. 
“If the bigger thieves, who wring the life-blood out 
of us poor folk, had been more civil to us, we would 
now be more civil to you, my lordling. And this 
fellow with the black hide, who tried to bite Jacques- 
of-the-Long-Knife’s finger off just now, say then, 
where does he come from?” 

“From a country where men eat one another,” 
Dick replied coolly. “I warn you, keep away from 
his teeth. It is his dinner-time.” 

“Devour me, would he?” The chief laughed as 
at a good joke, but he kept a keen eye on Pompey 
from that moment. “Hola, boys! Beware the 
Black-Face! He eats men alive!” he roared to his 
comrades, yet he seemed mightily tickled over this 
cannibal prize. “A man-eater, eh? Then he’s the 
right guest for the Gray Wolf’s Den.” 

‘ ‘ The Gray Wolf! ” Dick started despite himself, 
as the name brought back the miner’s warning. 

The shaggy chief bowed mockingly. “At your 
service, monsieur. I am that beast, and this is my 
den, one of my dens. I have a score of them.” He 
watched to see if the proud young prisoner’s nerve 
would fail him at that blutf. 

Instead, a look of apparent joy suddenly over¬ 
spread Dick’s face. ‘ ‘ The Gray Wolf!” he repeated. 
“What? Is it possible? Have I come home at last? 
Can it be that you are my long-lost cousin?” 

“Eh, what?” The Gray Wolf looked as much 
taken aback as if his prisoner, bound and disarmed, 
had by some magic succeeded in firing a shot in his 


THE GRAY WOLF 


259 


face. “Cousin! What do you mean? Has pluck¬ 
ing your tine plumes gone to your brain, that you 
‘ cousin ’ the Terror of the Mountains ?” 

“Cousin, if not uncle!” Dick insisted with well 
assumed enthusiasm. “You are the Gray Wolf. 
My great grandfather was the Red Wolf. And all 
wolves are of one blood, are n’t they? That makes 
us relatives. Untie my hands, somebody, and let 
me embrace my cousin! ’ ’ 

The Gray Wolf burst out with an explosion of 
language, the meaning of which Dick could only 
guess at, but which betrayed that he did not know 
what to make of this enthusiastic prisoner, who 
looked like a young lord and claimed kinship with 
a bandit! 

16 So you are sprung of a wolf-pack too ? ” he ended 
incredulously. “Your grandfather was the Red 
Wolf? Hein9 How came he by that name? Was 
he a brigand too ? ’ ’ 

“He was a chief! An Indian chief!” Dick an¬ 
swered proudly. “The great chief Red Wolf did 
not rob men of their purses. He took their scalps, 
instead.” 

“How? What? Pealed oil the crown of their 
heads, eh? A pretty trick to play upon a fat tax- 
gatherer! But one could not grow rich on scalps.” 

“It was not for riches: it was for decoration,” 
explained Red Wolf’s descendant. “That shaggy 
forelock of yours, my dear cousin, and your beard, 
too, would have made a very pretty fringe for my 
great grandfather’s best suit.” 


260 


WHITE FIRE 


“Oho! He’d have shorn me, would he, if I had 
walked into his lair, as you walked into mine, just 
now ? 91 

“If you and your men had come as enemies,” 
Dick answered stoutly, “not one of you would have 
been left alive to tell where his scalp had gone to! 
But if you had been lost like me, and wandered, all 
alone, into his camp, if I know aught of the Red 
Wolf, he M have called you his brother, shared his 
dinner and his fireside with you, and set you on 
your right path in the morning.” 

“So generous, eh?” The brigand looked unbe¬ 
lieving. “I never heard of a generous wolf; nor 
a red one, either! All our wolves are gray.” 

“Did you ever hear of red men?” Dick inquired. 
“The land I come from is full of them. My old 
grandfather Red Wolf was a great chief among the 
red men; the Indians, they call them.” 

The Gray Wolf scowled, as if he suspected Dick 
of mocking him. “So the men of your country are 
red, are they? Well, if a man can be born as black 
as a crow”—he glanced at Pompey—“he might as 
well be born the color of a fox. But, then, my whelp 
of the Red Wolf pack, why are you not red, your¬ 
self?” 

“Because I’m not all Indian. My father w T as a 
man of Auvergne, like you.” 

“But not a peasant like me, eh? Your father 
was either a noble, or a rich bourgeois, or a tax col¬ 
lector—or you would not wear so fine a coat, my 
gay gentleman.” 


THE GRAY WOLF 


261 


“My father was a soldier. He went ont to Amer¬ 
ica, the red men’s country, and married Red Wolf’s 
granddaughter . 9 9 

“A soldier, eh? An officer, then!” 

“Of course.” 

“Ha, I thought so! That’s where you get your 
swagger. All the officers are nobles, and live at 
ease, like kings.” 

“My father did not. He spent his life giving and 
taking hard knocks. He fell in battle at last.” 

The robber chief still eyed his captive with glow¬ 
ering hostility. Finally he growled, “Well, Master 
Wolfkin, what’s your name?” 

“Dick Monteith. That’s not the name I began 
with, but after my father was killed an American 
soldier took me home with him to he his son. Now, 
Cousin Wolf, I ’ll put a question to you. What are 
you going to do with me?” 

“You ’ll find out, all in good time. Where is that 
man who took you for his son?” 

“In Paris. What do you want with him?” 

“I thought he might like to know for what price 
he could buy back his son’s freedom,” replied the 
Gray Wolf. 

“So that’s the way the wind blows!” cried Dick. 
“You mean to hold me for ransom? You ’ll have 
to send me back to Paris, then, to raise it.” 

His captor laughed grimly. “No, no, my wolf- 
kin! We ’ll not let you give us the slip, like that!” 

“Oh, I ’ll come back to you, on my honor as a 
gentleman; I mean a wolf.” 


262 


WHITE FIRE 


“Yes, with a regiment of soldiers to trap my men 
and me!” the bandit retorted. “Would the Red 
Wolf have let himself be snared so easily? I war¬ 
rant not, unless he was a fool!” 

“He was no fool,” laughed Dick. “They say he 
could be as wily as a fox. He never was trapped 
but once, and that was when he was my age. ’ ’ 

“And who trapped him, eli?” 

“Men of the Iroquois tribe. They are red men, 
too, but enemies of his tribe, the Algonquin. They 
bound him to a tree. They lighted the torture-fire 
to roast him to a cinder. It’s a story to make your 
hair bristle up, Cousin Wolf!” 

“A good story never comes amiss when one has 
had a fair day’s hunting and the sun is low and 
there’s meat in the pot, ’ ’ remarked the robber chief. 
“Come, then, my cousin, or brother, or what you 
will! Let’s have the tale. And, to put you in a 
better humor for the telling, I ’ll untie your paws. 
So long as you behave yourself, you ’re free. But 
dare go a step beyond this camp-fire rock, and you ’ll 
drop, with a bullet through your head.” 

With this warning he untied the rope that had 
been cutting Dick’s wrists. 

‘ ‘ Thanks, my obliging cousin! Now free my black 
boy’s paws, as you’ve freed mine; and if you put 
him in a good humor he ’ll show you some jolly 
sport. He ’ll dance an Indian war-dance for you, 
and the man-eater’s dance, too!” 

“Ho, there, Jacques! Unbind the man-eater!” 
shouted the Gray Wolf. 


THE GRAY WOLF 


263 


In another minute Pompey was as free as Hick. 

The shadows were falling. The Wolf Pack was 
hungry for amusement as well as for the boar’s meat 
boiling in the pot. They could understand nick’s 
Parisian French better than he their patois; and 
they gathered in a circle about him, as, with dramatic 
gestures, and acting out some of the scenes with 
Pompey as able assistant, he told them the story of 
young Red Wolf, trapped and tortured by the Iro¬ 
quois, chanting his death-song while the tire scorched 
him cruelly, till he was rescued at last by his 
own Algonquin braves. The recital ended, the audi¬ 
ence called for more; and both before and after the 
savage banquet, of which he and Pompey enjoyed 
their share, Hick regaled his robber hosts on stories 
of warriors and hunters wilder even than them¬ 
selves. He fed them on all the annals of Red Wolf 
that Colonel Monteith had heard in Quebec and 
written down for the benefit of the renowned chief’s 
great-grandson, and all the other blood-curdling 
tales of Indian warfare, that he could remember; 
and that ring of bearded ruffians drank them in like 
so many greedy children! 

His coat was by this time gracing the back of 
Pierre the Boar-Hunter, and its rightful owner was 
wearing, instead, a gray wolf-skin. After hearing 
the tale of Red Wolf’s greatest exploit, the bandit 
leader had flung it over Hick’s shoulders, proclaim¬ 
ing him by that rite a worthy son of the Wolf Pack. 
Pompey, too, earned a wolf-pelt by his marvelous 
performance of the cannibal dance, self-invented for 


264 


WHITE FIRE 


the occasion. His leaps and whirls, his contortions, 
his wild shouts and whoops, called forth roars of 
laughter, and the weird song he chanted, to the rat¬ 
tling of deer’s bones for clappers, held the brigands 
spell-bound! And when Pompey dropped down 
breathless Dick had yet another story ready. 

When it came to the tales of warfare between the 
red men and the palefaces, the Gray Wolf sided 
fiercely with the Indians, to whom, Dick told him, 
the whole vast country beyond the great ocean had 
belonged before the white invaders wrested their 
coast lands from them and drove them westward. 

“They have wrongs like ourselves!” cried the 
outlaw chief, clenching his fist on his knife-hilt. 
“The white men have robbed them of their lands 
and rights, as the lords, big and little, and the king’s 
tax collectors—a plague fall on them!—rob us 
peasants of the very food out of our mouths! Why 
am I turned from an honest farmer’s son into a 
ravaging wolf? Because of my wrongs! Wrongs 
that would make a wild beast of any man! When 
I was a little boy, and the famine struck us, my 
father shot a partridge to fill our empty pot. For 
that he was shot dead by my lord’s game-keepers. 
The rabbits, little thieves, nibbled our few poor cab¬ 
bages. My elder brother laid a trap. He caught 
one. Again the game-keepers were on the watch, 
and Jean paid with his life for that rabbit, which 
only the baron had a right to hunt. The famine 
struck us again. My next brother dared trespass 
one night in the baron’s woods. He never came 


THE GRAY WOLF 


265 


back. My mother died of grief—and hunger. And 
I? I was the good boy, the pupil of the village 
priest ”—he laughed at himself with sneering bit¬ 
terness—“but after that I became a wolf!” 

‘ ‘ Shame on the murderers that drove you to it! ” 
Dick burst out, and his eyes flashed in the firelight. 

The Gray Wolf’s eyes gleamed a fierce response. 
He waved his hand toward his ring of followers. 
“And for wrongs like mine, or because it was a 
choice of stealing or starving, these fellows have all 
become wolves, like me.” 

“But who was that lord—that baron—who let your 
father and brothers be murdered?” Dick demanded. 

“The Baron de Sancy.” 

Dick with difficulty controlled a start. De Sancy! 
And it was to the Chateau de Sancy that he was 
bound! What if the Gray Wolf should guess that 
his young prisoner, who called himself Dick Mon- 
teith, was really Armand de Laval, cousin of this 
same Baron de Sancy, who cared more for his pheas¬ 
ants and rabbits than for the men on his lands? 

“Where is he now—the baron?” he asked grimly. 

The bandit shrugged his shoulders. “Where 
should he be but in Paris? Isn’t that where they 
all live, who can? When my father and brothers 
were shot, and their deaths killed my mother, what 
did Monsieur the Baron know of it—or care ? ’ ’ 

“If ever I get back to Paris, I ’ll make him care!” 
vowed Dick. “I’ve heard enough and seen enough 
to make me wish—” 

“To make you wish what, Brother Wolfkin?” 


266 


WHITE FIRE 


“To see some of those grand gentlemen, whose 
chateaux I ’ve passed, land in the Wolf’s Den, too.” 

The brigand laughed, as if the thought pleased 
him well. “Have patience, little brother. The 
time may come— If all the thousands who suffer 
wrongs that none will right, were to turn wolves to¬ 
gether—” 

“See here!” Dick suddenly cried out, “Why don’t 
you fellows with wrongs come over to my country— 
America—the New World, as they call it, where 
there’s room for everybody and to spare? There 
nobody goes hungry, and nobody’s downtrodden, 
for every man, high or low, has his rights!” He 
had forgotten the men of Pompey’s color; also, for 
the moment, King George’s taxes and trade laws. 
America, as he looked back upon it, seemed little 
short of a paradise! 1 ‘ Come over to the land of the 
red men, Cousin Wolf!” he urged. “You ’ll have 
no need to play the bandit, over there; for you can 
push on into the wilderness, hunt all the game in 
forests a hundred times bigger than these, fish in 
the rivers—such rivers as you never dreamed of! 
No game-keepers to stop you! And you can pick 
out your own piece of land and settle on it and live 
better than any prince. There’s the life for you!” 

The Gray Wolf listened with rather a hungry look. 
Then he threw back his shaggy head and laughed 
again. “Little brother, you ’re the strangest game 
I ever bagged! I’ve seen my prisoners play the 
coward or show fight or put on proud looks of scorn, 


THE GRAY WOLF 


267 


though they quaked in their shoes; hut you Ye the 
first one who ever invited me to his home! Wolf- 
kin, it sounds right good, that country of yours. 
But I can’t leave my mountains. I have too many 
scores to settle with fat tax-thieves, and other worse 
rogues than myself.” 

That night Dick and Pompey lay down side by 
side in the Gray Wolf’s den. 

< ‘ Well done, Pompey, my boy! ’ ’ said Dick. ‘ i You 
voodooed the whole Wolf Pack, with your man- 
eater’s dance and your howling!” 

“Dat’s wot I done, Marse Dick. I voodooed ’em 
de best I could. I sung ’em ole Maum Judy’s cun- 
jur song. Ef only I could ’uv made a mud image, 
too, an’ stuck it full o’ thorns! Nebber mind. If 
we hears moanin’ an’ groanin’ in de night, an’ in 
de momin’ dey comes repentin’ an’ hands us back 
our clo’es, we ’ll know de charm wukked.” 

Dick lay awake for hours vainly trying to plan 
some way of escape from the hospitality of his wolf 
cousin. Sleep overtook him at last. When he 
awoke, a gleam of sunlight was stealing into the 
cave, and the bandit chief was bending over him. 

‘ 1 Brother, will you throw in your lot with us, and 
join the Wolf Pack?” 

Startled by the question, Dick could only blink 
and stare in the dimness. 

“Come, then!” urged the Gray Wolf. “I war¬ 
rant you are a dead sure shot; if not, I ’ll soon make 



268 


WHITE FIRE 


yon one. And I can promise you jolly hunting, and 
your man-eater plenty of tax-gatherer’s bones to 
crunch. Will you join us?” 

“Thanks, my cousin, not now. But whenever 
you ’re ready to visit America, I’m with you.” 

“Not before? That’s a pity! You might be 
leader of the pack, when I’m shot at last. Well, 
then, what shall I do with you? I had meant to 
hold you for ransom, but one can’t drive bargains 
over one’s own blood brother. Name of a dog! 
There’s nothing left but to—blindfold you once 
more.” 


CHAPTER XV 


A STRANGE WELCOME HOME 

D ICK and Pompey were standing in the high¬ 
road in a spot unknown to them. They looked 
about with dazzled eyes, from which the bandages 
had been whipped off but an instant before. Blind¬ 
fold, they had been led down a mountain slope that 
seemed endless; and the lower they had descended 
the higher their spirits had soared, while on the pre¬ 
vious day the higher they had climbed the lower their 
spirits had dropped. Now they stood among their 
bandit guards, amazed to see before them in the 
road another brigand holding the horse from whose 
back Dick had been dragged in Werwolf Pass! 

*‘Here we part, little brother,’’ said the Gray 
Wolf. “You and the man-eater are free to go your 
way. But which way is it! What’s the place 
you ’re bound for!” 

“The village where your home used to be, and the 
Chateau of the Baron de Sancy,” Dick answered, 
fearlessly. “Point me out the way, and I ’ll go 
straight there, to see if any more peasants have been 
shot down like rabbits, and how many are starving 
there to-day. And then—back to Paris, to seek out 
Monsieur the Baron, and protest against your 
wrongs. ’ ’ 


269 


270 


WHITE FIRE 


The Gray Wolf looked at him keenly. “Ha! You 
mean it? You would do that for the fellow who 
pounced on you and plundered you?” 

Dick held out his hand, and the outlaw gripped 
and wrung it. 

“Your road lies down yonder,” the wild chief 
told him, pointing the way. “But you and Master 
Crow-Face will have to ride the same horse. 
Jacques-of-the-Long-Knife galloped off at dawn on 
your other nag—a scouting expedition. I can’t 
give you back your money—” his tone was actually 
rueful—“it *s divided up among my men, nor your 
coat and the man-eater’s, for Pierre and Jacques 
have them. I had promised them the choicest pick¬ 
ings from the next prisoners we plucked, and you 
were the next, as luck would have it!” 

“Well, this wolf-skin’s the warmer coat of the 
two,” laughed Dick, too joyous over his freedom to 
grieve about his clothes. “I ’ll carry it back with 
me to the land of the red men, as a keepsake from 
my Wolf cousin.” 

“Take back your sword, too, and, you, my friend 
the man-eater, take your knife.” The Gray Wolf 
handed Dick his sword and Pompey his cherished 
weapon. “Your pistols are at home in my den, for 
I need them badly. There’s a price on this Wolf’s 
head.” 

“There’s a price on mine, too,” thought Dick, 
recalling the Gaspee. 

“And here’s a trinket worth more to you than 
to me. The sun is my timepiece.” With that, the 


A STBANGE WELCOME HOME 271 

bandit gave his “brother wolfkin” back his watch. 
Lastly, he thrust into Dick’s hand a strange token, 
an animal’s tooth and claw, bound together by a 
bit of dried sinew. “A wolf’s fang and claw, the 
sign of our Pack. Everybody knows it and fears it. 
Show it at any tavern in these parts, and the inn¬ 
keeper will give you food and lodging and whatever 
else you call for. He dare not refuse.” 

Dick was on the borders of ancestral ground at 
last; but nobody would have suspected him of being 
kinsman to the Baron de Sancy. He and Pompey 
were riding one horse, slowly, and in brotherly fash¬ 
ion, laughing over the shock that their appearance 
had given the few farm-folk they had met. Both 
wore wolf-pelts slung over their shoulders, and both 
were ragged enough after their rough handling and 
their experience of being hauled over mountain 
crags. They would have passed very creditably for 
brigands. These two riders on a single steed were 
skirting a stretch of woodland, the forest where my 
lord the baron hunted on his rare visits to his 
neglected estate. Beyond, on the hilltop, they could 
see the twin towers of the chateau. 

“Marse Dick! Hark! Wot’s dat noise dar in de 
woods ? ’ ’ Pompey asked suddenly. He kept his ears 
pricked up warily now. 

Dick reined in and listened. “ Sounds like some¬ 
body groaning!” 

They dismounted. Dick plunged into the thicket, 
and Pompey followed, leading the horse. There in 


272 


WHITE FIRE 


the twilight of the heavy shade they saw a pale up¬ 
turned face. A youth was half lying, half crouch¬ 
ing in the shelter of the trees and bushes. They 
dropped on their knees beside him, spoke to him, 
tried to find where his injuries lay. 

“Is that you, Gaspard?” murmured a feeble 
voice. 

“No; but we ’ll take care of you,” Dick promised. 
“What’s happened to you? Tell us where you ’re 
hurt. ’ ’ 

Another groan was followed by the faint appeal: 
“Help me! Get me out of here, before they find 
me.” 

Together they lifted the sufferer, though he kept 
groaning pitifully, and carried him to the roadside. 
His haggard face was contorted with pain. He 
had been bleeding badly from a wound in the leg, 
which he must have bound up himself with rags 
torn from his own smock. How he had come by 
that wound and what he wished them to do with 
him, he feebly tried to explain. It was that queer 
patois once more; but Dick gathered enough to 
make’ him mutter, “Rascally game-keepers’ work 
again! ’ ’ 

“We ’ll have to put him on the horse and find 
somebody in the village to take him in,” he told 
Pompey. But it was a difficult matter to hoist the 
wounded boy to the saddle. 

The poor fellow fainted from pain, and they had 
to walk one on each side of him, supporting him as 


A STRANGE WELCOME HOME 273 

the horse plodded on toward the hamlet at the foot 
of the hill. 

Now, as if ill luck had been always on the watch 
for them, at that very hour a house-to-house hunt 
was being carried on through the village for the 
purpose of finding where some rogue of a poacher, 
who had tried to shoot the baron’s head game- 
keeper, was hiding. The search-party consisted of 
both burly game-keepers from the chateau, three or 
four of their fellow-servants, and the Baron de 
Sancy’s steward, who squeezed taxes out of the 
peasants like water out of sponges! They happened 
to be inside a forlorn cottage, making plenty of 
trouble for the scared housewife, when Pompey and 
Dick reached the village, with the horse and his half- 
fainting rider between them. When the steward 
and the vengeful game-keepers came out into the 
street, they saw a crowd of peasants gathered in 
front of the village church; and as they hastened 
toward the scene of excitement, a boy—he was the 
head game-keeper’s son, and therefore out for venge¬ 
ance, too—came rushing up to them with the news 
that two bandits had arrived bringing that fellow, 
Lucien—wounded! Yes, it was no other than 
Lucien! He must be the poacher they were all 
hunting! And the brigands were of the Gray 
Wolf’s band! Each wore a wolf-skin; that proved 
it! And one of them was black, and looked like a 
very fiend! 

The baron’s men were armed with shot-guns and 


274 


WHITE FIRE 


pistols. They and the steward, thrusting them¬ 
selves into the midst of the crowd, beheld two wild 
and wolfish savages, with a horse bearing a 
wounded peasant lad, who drooped from weakness 
and despair. The two wolf men showed fight. One 
drew his sword; the other, he of the black face, 
whipped out a knife. It was the second time within 
twenty-four hours that Dick and Pompey had found 
gun-muzzles pointing at them, and it was more than 
their tempers could stand. 

“ What’s the meaning of all this? ” Dick demanded 
angrily. “What are you holding us up for? We 
found this fellow lying wounded, and we ’re trying 
to find where he lives.” 

“A poacher brought back by a pair of robbers!” 
sneered the head game-keeper. “We know you 
rascals. You belong to the Gray Wolf’s gang.” 

“You’ve made a bad mistake there,” Dick re¬ 
torted. “I’m Armand de Laval. My man and I 
were waylaid by the Gray Wolf and plundered. He 
kept us prisoners overnight, but to-day he let us 
go free.” 

“A likely tale!” It was the steward who jeered 
this time, keeping well out of range of Dick’s wea¬ 
pon. “Bandits don’t as a rule send their prisoners 
off with horses and swords. You are a very bold 
young liar, but—Ah! Help! Help! A moi, Fran¬ 
cois! Simon, keep that ruffian covered with your 
gun!” The steward had sprung back, as Dick, 
bounding forward in a fury, made a nearly fatal 


A STRANGE WELCOME HOME 275 

lunge at him; and from a safer distance he contin¬ 
ued: “It won't do to pass yourself off as Armand 
de Laval before those who know Monsieur the Baron 
and his family personally. The only Armand de 
Lavals in existence are the Baron de Sancy and his 
son, both of whom are in Paris." 

“And when the baron hears how you dared call 
his cousin a liar, you 'll be sorry for it!" stormed 
Dick. “For I am his cousin. Thousand thunders! 
Can't you recognize a gentleman when you see 
one!" 

“Invariably." The steward bowed. “It is not 
the fashion for gentlemen to wear wolf-skins for 
coats." 

“I told you I was robbed on my way to visit my 
family castle up there." 

“Ah, indeed! Simon, Frangois, all of you men, 
up with him to the chateau! Perhaps he might like 
to visit the family dungeon. But hold! Best search 
and disarm him first. He may have a pistol hid¬ 
den somewhere. And down with that scoundrel of 
a poacher from the saddle! That horse is too good 
for a rogue who shoots at game-keepers." 

Poor Lucien protested his innocence in vain. 
They seized him with a brutal roughness that wrung 
from him a cry of agony. That again was too much 
for the Baron de Sancy's fiery young kinsman. 
Catching Simon the game-keeper for an instant off 
his guard, Dick struck him furiously with the flat of 
his sword. That was a bad move. Another instant 


276 


WHITE FIRE 


and Dick would have been lying in the road with a 
bullet through his heart, had not a little old man in 
a rusty black cassock thrown himself between the 
baron’s servants and the supposed brigand. It was 
the village priest, and he made his own body a shield 
for Dick’s. The armed men could not risk shoot¬ 
ing the reverend cure. He laid his hand on the en¬ 
raged young prisoner’s arm. 

“ Stand still, my son, and control yourself. It is 
your only chance. ’ ’ He turned to the game-keepers 
who had laid violent hold of the injured peasant 
youth. ‘ 4 Shame on you, my children, for handling 
a wounded boy so roughly! Have you no pity in 
your hearts? What proof have you, Simon, or you, 
Francois, that it was Lucien who fired the shot?” 

The village folk, who had drawn back when the 
baron’s men came up, began to plead for the poor 
boy accused of shooting. The priest joined in their 
appeal. 

“Monsieur,” he said to the steward, “this Lucien 
is one of my own flock, and he is a good lad. Give 
him over to me to tend, and I will draw the truth out 
of him.” 

With a shrug, the steward consented. Then, while 
the wounded Lucien was being lifted, more gently 
this time, from the horse, Pompey broke loose from 
his guards and flung himself on his knees before the 
priest, who was to him the “parson,” just as he had 
seen French peasants kneel, and clasped him 
around the waist in supplication. 

“Marse Passon! Marse Passon! Save Marse 


A STRANGE WELCOME HOME 277 

Dick! Tell dem ole fools dey ain’ got no business 
to ’rest a ’spectable gen’leman like him! Tell ’em 
de cunnel gwine punish ’em for dat!” 

Wondering what sort of jargon it was that the 
queer creature spoke, the little priest patted the 
black bandit soothingly on the head, while two men 
held Dick and a third searched him for concealed 
weapons. 

“See,” said the cure, “this blach wolf is as gentle 
as a lamb now! The other speaks good French, 
like a gentleman. After all, his story may be true. 
Don’t be too sure they are brigands.” 

“What!” scoffed the steward. “His story true, 
when he calls himself ‘Armand de Laval’—a ragged 
ruffian like that! And when he has a fine gold watch 
hidden away? When bandits rob their prisoners, 
they do not generally leave them their gold watches. 
This villain has been plundering some seig¬ 
neur.” 

Dick tried his best to curb his temper and ex¬ 
plain, but they would not harken; and his case was 
rendered absolutely hopeless when the man who was 
searching him brought out the talisman given him 
by the robber chief, the wolf’s tooth and claw! 
That proved him one of the Gray Wolf’s Pack, and 
sealed his doom. 

Young Armand de Laval, the baron’s cousin, was 
installed in his own ancestral chateau; but the room 
allotted to him was not the one that he would have 
picked out for himself had he been given his choice. 


278 


WHITE FIRE 


It was the castle prison, a dismal hole, the stone 
walls and floor reeking with damp, and the darkness 
hardly relieved at all by the faint light from one 
small window near the ceiling grated with thick 
bars. Standing on Pompey’s shoulders, he had 
tested the strength of those iron bars; and he had 
groped around his hateful cell, searching vainly for 
some possible way of escape. Now he was giving 
himself up to raging, as though in very truth a 
caged wolf, while his prison-mate Pompey lay silent 
and sullen in a corner, like a wild animal untamed 
at heart, but grown quiet from sheer hopelessness 
of ever winning freedom. Hunger was gnawing 
them both cruelly, and, what was worse, a burning 
thirst was torturing their throats. 

Suddenly there w r as a sound of grating bolts and 
turning keys! Then the heavy prison door swung 
open, letting in a welcome stream of lamp-light. A 
servant with a lantern entered first. After him 
came a tall slight youth in officer’s uniform. The 
steward and Simon the game-keeper were close at 
his heels; but Dick had eyes only for the tall boy 
officer. He was as fair as English Phil, but he was 
no Briton. He wore the uniform of the Black Mus¬ 
keteers. The lantern-light shone on his ruddy hair 
and on his face, so boyish, yet so manly in its de¬ 
termined and commanding look. His eager glance 
pierced the gloom. He sprang forward with out¬ 
stretched arms. 

4 ‘ Armand de Laval! My dear Dick! To find you 
in a dungeon cell.!” 


A STRANGE WELCOME HOME 279 


“Lafayette!” 

Game-keeper and steward stared in gaping amaze¬ 
ment, mingled with guilty horror. Pompey’s whoop 
of joy burst upon their ears, as he leaped to his feet. 
They saw the youthful nobleman and the bandit who 
had claimed kinship with the Baron de Sancy em¬ 
brace like brothers—French brothers, at least; and 
they heard: “Marquis, where did you drop from? 
I left you in Paris!” and the answer: 

“If you had waited a day or so, mon ami, we could 
have ridden along together. Then you would not 
have been served in this scoundrelly fashion!” 

“But what are you doing here?” Dick demanded 
of young Lafayette. “Nobody told me you were 
planning a trip to Auvergne! ’ ’ 

“I’m on my way to visit my old home, Chavag- 
niac. I had not gone far when I met the Baron de 
Montemar’s lackey. He told me you were sending 
him back and riding on alone with your black man, 
to have a look at the Chateau de Sancy. He swore 
you’d get your throat cut by brigands.” 

“I pretty nearly did,” Dick admitted. 

“I We been on the watch for you all the way,” 
the young marquis went on. “At every stop we 
made I asked for you, but I never could catch up 
with you. I had to hunt you all the way to your 
chateau, and a tine welcome they’ve given you here! 
It is shameful! Outrageous!” 

“You came in the nick of time. It looked rather 
like the gallows for me!” said Dick. 

“It was an abominable outrage!” cried Lafayette. 


280 


WHITE FIBE 


4 i When I asked for you here, they told me they had 
never heard of you, but they had just caught a 
brigand, who tried to pass himself off as Armand de 
Laval, and they had thrown him into the prison of 
the chateau, along with another brigand, who was 
black! I told them to show me these two brigands. 
They know me around here, and they dared not re¬ 
fuse. But what villainy to treat you so!” 

L1 They took me for one of the Gray Wolf’s band,” 
Dick explained. “I spent last night with him, and 
we exchanged coats. I suppose I do look rather 
wolfish! ’ ’ 

‘ 1 What? Did the Gray Wolf capture you! Bob 
you! You were lucky to come out of it with your 
life! ’ ’ 

“Oh, the Gray Wolf is a very friendly fellow when 
you take him in the right way,” declared Dick. 
“We got on famously together, after the first. He’s 
more of a gentleman than these idiots around my 
family chateau. ’ ’ 

The indignant young marquis turned to the 
steward and Simon: “This gentleman is my friend, 
Monsieur Armand de Laval, cousin of Monsieur the 
Baron. He had the misfortune to fall into the hands 
of the Gray Wolf, but he looked for a better recep¬ 
tion at his family home. You must make your 
apologies to him, before we leave this vile hole.” 

Boy though he was, the Marquis de Lafayette had 
coolly taken command of the whole situation; and 
he looked quite equal to handling it. There was no 
bashful hesitation about him now, as he towered 


A STRANGE WELCOME HOME 281 


over the domineering steward. But the steward was 
no longer domineering. He was about ready to eat 
dust in his humility! Pompey grinned with all his 
ivories gleaming, to see him fairly wring his hands 
and look almost on the verge of weeping, as he 
bowed before the marquis and Dick. 

“A thousand apologies, Monsieur de Laval! 
Monsieur the Marquis will forgive the unintentional 
disrespect to his friend? A fatal blunder, mes¬ 
sieurs ! But it came from our zeal to protect Mon¬ 
sieur the Baron’s property. Everything shall be 
done to make amends. The whole chateau is at the 
disposal of Monsieur de Laval. He will not accuse 
me to his cousin the baron of intending to insult 
him? Monsieur would perhaps be so good as to 
convey my humblest apologies to his illustrious 
cousin?” 

“I ’ll convey your apologies,” replied Dick, with 
superb dignity, “on one condition, that you keep 
your hands off that wounded boy I picked up. Leave 
him to the priest to take care of; and don’t meddle 
with him on any account whatever, till you hear 
from the Baron de Sancy. I’m going back to Paris 
to report things to him. There! Those are my 
orders in the absence of the baron.” 

Very loftily spoken, Dick! And, happily, neither 
the steward nor the game-keeper suspected that you 
and your cousin the baron had never laid eyes on 
each other. 

“It shall be as monsieur wishes,” the humbled 
steward promised. 


282 


WHITE FIRE 


“And next time yon don’t like the look of a 
stranger’s clothes, better think twice before yon clap 
him into prison,” Dick added, by no means gra¬ 
ciously. 

Here Simon the game-keeper stepped forward 
with Dick’s sword and Pompey’s knife, also the 
watch and the wolf’s tooth, and his own apologies. 
“Monsieur will pardon me for handling him some¬ 
what roughly?” 

“I ’ll pardon the whole of you, so long as you 
leave that boy Lucien alone, and give me some¬ 
thing to eat. I’m not a wolf, but I’m as hungry 
as one!” 

Oh, then there was a lively bustling in the 
chateau! The choicest stores in larder and cellar 
were brought out; and Dick sat down to a feast in 
his ancestors ’ baronial hall, with a youthful marquis 
for his guest. Pompey, too, had his fill, while La¬ 
fayette’s retinue of armed and mounted at¬ 
tendants tasted the good cheer of the Baron de 
Laval. And, the better to appease the absent baron 
by currying favor with his young kinsman, the 
steward besought Dick and the marquis to spend the 
night at the chateau, offering them their choice of 
its finest rooms. As it was growing late, they both 
consented. 

“And to-morrow,” said Lafayette to his rescued 
friend, “you ’re coming home with me to Chavag- 
niac. ’ ’ 

Dick was grateful, but abashed. “I don’t look 


A STRANGE WELCOME HOME 283 


very fit for visiting,’’ he objected. “Are there any 
ladies there?” 

‘ ‘ My grandmother and my aunts and my cousin, 
and they’d never forgive me for not bringing you 
along. Your clothes? Bah, what do you care! I’ll 
fit you out so nobody ’ll mistake you for a wolf. 
We ’re about the same size, aren’t we? But I’d 
rather have that wolf-skin myself than all the satin 
coats in Paris! You ’re coming home with me to the 
Chateau de Chavagniac, I tell you, to stay as long 
as 1 stay. So that’s settled.” 

“That’s very good of you, Marquis. Thank you 
for all—” 

“Down with the marquis! Call me ‘Gilbert’!” 
the boy noble interrupted, and he threatened to 
draw his sword upon Dick if obliged to listen to any 
more thanks. 

But to go back to that baronial hall, where the 
two hungry young lordlings feasted till they could 
devour no more: suits of armor, swords and shields 
and old tapestry adorned its walls; and, dinner over, 
they fell to inspecting these relics of a chivalric 
past. Shield after shield bore the device of a flam¬ 
ing torch, and Dick took down a sword, the very 
counterpart of that bequeathed him by his soldier 
father, and bearing the same motto: 

CANDENS • VSQVE • ARDEAT • IGNIS 

“What does that mean?” asked Gilbert. 

“ ‘Let the White Fire ever be blazing,’ ” Dick 


284 


WHITE FIRE 


translated. ‘‘ When my father was dying on the 
battle-field, he sent his sword—just like this one— 
back to me, with the message that I was to keep the 
White Fire burning. But what is it? That’s 
what I Ve always wanted to know. Nan says you 
told her you’d heard some story about it.” 

“Yes, there’s a legend, if I could remember it!” 
Gilbert turned from admiring the sword to studying 
the pictures embroidered on the tapestry hangings, 
and trying to puzzle out the scenes they represented. 
The colors were faded, the figures grotesque; but 
suddenly he cried: “Look! The story of the 
White Fire! Here it is, on this piece of tapestry!” 

Hick joined him. “What! That fricassee of arms 
and legs and horses’ heads! Is that the story?” 

“That fricassee, mon ami, is a battle between the 
crusaders and the Saracens,” Gilbert interpreted. 
“Hon’t you see the helmets and the turbans, and 
the red cross shields and the scimitars? And look, 
in the center, that knight on horseback is holding 
up a flaming torch! There ’s your White Fire! 
And there’s your motto, down below.” 

Sure enough! The motto was embroidered in 
quaint antique lettering at the foot of the tapestry. 

Passing on to the next piece, they found no be¬ 
wildering melee of combatants but a single crusader, 
with red cross on shield and breast, kneeling be¬ 
fore a winged warrior, who was holding out to him 
a torch with a white flame! 

“Now it comes back to me!” exclaimed Gilbert. 
“This is the beginning of the story. A crusader— 


A STRANGE WELCOME HOME 285 


the first de Laval, I suppose—was starting out to 
help win back the Holy Land from the Saracens; 
and a heavenly warrior—St. Michael, or somebody 
—appeared to him in shining armor, and gave him 
a torch with the White Fire, and told him to carry 
it with him wherever he went, and keep it always 
blazing. If he let it go out he’d suffer for it, and 
serve him right! The knight did as he was told, 
and triumphed over all his enemies, and—oh, 
there ’s more to the story that I can’t remember!” 

“Lucky you can’t,” yawned Dick, rather sleepy 
after his good dinner. “ Legends are always a 
bore.” 

“But this one must have some meaning behind 
it,” Gilbert reasoned, “or your father wouldn’t 
have sent you word to keep the White Fire burn¬ 
ing. ’ ’ 

“That’s true,” Dick assented. “The White 
Fire must stand for something. The question is, 
what?” He yawned again and stretched his arms 
above his head. “I leave you to dig out the mean¬ 
ing, Gilbert. My brains are too foggy. I didn’t 
sleep over well in the Wolf’s Den.” 

He slept soundly enough to make up for it, how¬ 
ever, that night, in the room that generations of 
barons had occupied. Next morning, while the day 
was still “dew-pearled,” he and Lafayette bade 
Chateau de Sancy farewell. They paid a call on the 
village priest, who convinced them of Lucien’s in¬ 
nocence and told them things that the steward would 


286 


WHITE FIRE 


not liave wished them to hear. Then they rode for¬ 
ward on their way to the Chateau de Chavagniac. 

Dick kept turning his head to gaze at a noble 
mountain, whose purple-shadowed heights he 
longed to climb. It was the mighty king of the 
Dome range, and grandest of all the “puys” those 
volcanic hills that in remote ages had breathed out 
flames. 

“That’s the Puy de Dome,” said Lafayette. 
“It ’s one of our dead volcanoes, but it spouts fire 
again every St. John’s eve. Each year they light 
bonfires up there in the crater. ’ ’ 

“Maybe the old giant’s not really dead,” Dick 
suggested. “Maybe he’s only asleep. My faith, 
but I’d like to see him wake up and spit out boil¬ 
ing lava!” 

“So should I, but he’s dead for ever, they say,” 
returned Gilbert; and fell silent. The thought of 
the St. John’s eve bonfires reminded him of another 
sort of flame. Not till they had ridden on for some 
distance did he speak again; then he suddenly burst 
out: “I have it! That ’s what it means!’’ 

“What what means?” Dick asked him. 

“The White Fire. Now, listen, mon ami; it must 
stand for something that kindles you, mustn’t it? 
Something that sets your heart and soul on fire, 
that—what’s the word I want ?—inspires you! I 
think—yes, I’m sure it means the burning love, 
the passion, for some great glorious high ideal! 
Take those old crusaders: they were on fire to win 
back the Holy Land and rescue the Holy Sepulcher. 


A STRANGE WELCOME HOME 287 

They took up the torch and carried it with them. 
Well, they ’re dead and gone, those old red cross 
knights. But the White Fire can’t be dead! Rescu¬ 
ing the Holy Land isn’t the only glorious ideal. 
There are plenty of others, if one stops to think. 
There’s—liberty! Oh, whenever I hear the word 
1 liberty,’ I feel a great fire blazing up in me/” 

Often had he heard it, that enkindling word, 
Liberty; for already the high-spirited sons of auto¬ 
cratic France were beginning to dream dreams of 
a freer, happier age. 

Looking at him now, Dick was amazed to see 
a Gilbert transfigured. The light of the White Fire 
had changed and beautified the boyish face. The 
clear eyes shone as if they beheld a vision. 

Dick struck him on the shoulder, an enthusiastic 
brotherly accolade, as they rode side by side. 
“Right you are, Puy de Lafayette! That’s the 
White Fire; and you ’re in a high state of volcanic 
eruption with it! A big, glorious ideal; that’s it! 
And for you that means liberty! So it does for me! 
and right and justice, too!” he added, feeling the 
white flame kindling in himself. “Justice for the 
Gray Wolf and poor Lucien—and everybody! I tell 
you it makes me volcanic to see what I’ve seen and 
hear what I’ve heard since I left the Montemars! 
Everywhere, nearly, the people who raise the crops 
so the nobles can eat are ground down like slaves— 
starved! miserable! They haven’t a dog’s chance 
in life! And think of what the priest told us to¬ 
day about that knavish steward and rascals of his 


288 


WHITE FIRE 


breed! I t'ell you, Gilbert, the thought of such 
cruelty and injustice makes a fellow from the Brit¬ 
ish colonies, like me, savager than a wolf! Over 
in America, now, every one has a chance to make 
his way, and every man’s his own master—” 

“Every man!” Gilbert repeated. “Your Pom- 
pee, too?” 

This brought Dick up with a round turn. “You 
have me there!” he had to confess. And then, re¬ 
membering how he and his faithful Black Shadow 
had been captured together, and together faced what 
they thought meant death, and slept side by side 
in the Wolf’s den, and shared the same dungeon 
cell, he asked himself: “Why should he be a slave 
and I a free man?” 

“Come, now, my high and mighty marquis!” he 
said, “own up that France isn’t making it exactly 
heaven for the man at the plow, and 7 ’ll own up 
that slavery’s a confounded shame; and Father’s 
always talking about freeing his slaves some day, 
only he doesn’t see his way clear to it yet.” 

“But at Chavagniac we don’t treat our peasants 
like dogs,” protested Lafayette, “and the Noailles 
don’t treat theirs so, either! But those stories the 
priest told us made my blood boil! I never dreamed 
such things could happen in France! There ought 
to be a new crusade to set wrongs right. Oh, Dick, 
my comrade, why can’t we give our lives to our 
glorious cause, as the crusaders did to theirs? 
Let’s do it. Let’s take up the torch and try to 
right wrongs wherever we can, and set the slaves 


A STRANGE WELCOME HOME 289 


free, and the people who are hound down like 
slaves!” 

‘ ‘ March ahead, Sir Gilbert! I’m with you!’ ’ 
cried Dick. And as they journeyed on, planning 
glorious White Fire Campaigns, he slapped his com¬ 
rade *s shoulder a second time. “Puy de Lafayette, 
you ’re a strange fellow! The first time I met you, 
when Henri and the rest of us were all showing how 
witty we could he, you sat there as cold and dead as 
the Puy de Dome! Nobody could strike a spark 
out of you. It takes the word ‘liberty’ to wake you 
up, eh? And then you boil over, hot enough to cook 
all the tyrants that ever trod the earth!” 

Happy tenants, who loved their young liege lord, 
welcomed the boy marquis with glad acclaim that 
day, when he and Dick rode up the hill with the 
rushing stream and brawling rapids at its foot, to 
the great two-towered manor-house, fortress-like 
in its strength, the Chateau de Chavagniac. On 
the rugged hills round about, a village had sprung 
up, whose entire population turned out to greet him. 
Mothers lifted up their voices, invoking blessings 
on his head, and everywhere rough-hewn, weather- 
browned faces shone with true devotion. Yet little 
did they guess, those loyal peasant folk, that when 
young Lafayette had doubled his sixteen years, he 
would be the man on whom all eyes in France were 
turned, whether with hope or fear, who best de¬ 
served the nation’s love, the champion of the op¬ 
pressed—the crusader who never swerved from his 
ideals. 


CHAPTER XVI 


A PRINCESS AND A PARTING 

W HEN Hick came back from Auvergne with 
his head full of plans for turning the world 
upside down, he found Nancy very well satisfied 
with the world as it was. Her Royal Highness 
Marie Antoinette—the dauphiness, as she, the wife 
of the heir to the throne, was called—had heard the 
story of Anastasie de Fontaines, the little Ameri¬ 
can who had come to France, where she belonged. 
One of the shepherdesses of the Moonlight Fete, 
who stood high in the princess’s favor, had told it 
to her to entertain her; and the Comtesse de Fon¬ 
taines had admitted that her husband’s niece was 
here, though she herself had not had time to see the 
child as yet. Marie Antoinette was a wide-awake 
young person, always eager for new amusement, 
and a very friendly and lovable girl, as well. She 
had a whim to see “la petite Americaine,” and when 
royal ladies have whims it is the business of cour¬ 
tiers to carry them out. As a result, Nancy re¬ 
ceived an invitation to a private audience with the 
dauphiness, the beautiful princess of her dreams, 
without having to wait to learn the rules of court 
etiquette! 

Hick, the returned wanderer, who had been at 

290 


A PRINCESS AND A PARTING 291 


much pains to make his peace with his offended 
father and their hosts, Dick, the well scolded, but 
now forgiven, watched Sister Nan parading herself 
like a pretty peacock before the mirror in the salon 
of Madame de Montemar an hour or so before the 
time appointed for the interview with royalty. 

“I do look like a court lady, don’t I, Dick?” she 
exulted. “And my princess won’t know that I have 
carroty hair.” 

The “carroty hair,” her real glory, was piled over 
cushions, high upon her head, and powdered, and 
bedecked with turquoise pins; and she wore her 
uncle’s first gift to her, a white silk gown, brocaded 
with bunches of forget-me-nots. High-heeled slip¬ 
pers with golden buckles made her wish to dance; 
but, no, the snow-mountain of hair might tumble 
down! Instead, she fondled lovingly the string of 
family pearls that the Comte de Fontaines had lent 
his niece for the occasion. 

“Your precious princess will be thinking too much 
about her owm hair to be looking at yours,” said 
Dick. “Nan, I bet my wolf’s tooth against your 
shoe-buckles that you ’ll get the giggles just when 
you have to kiss her hand!” 

Far from being threatened with a giggling fit, 
Nancy looked as decorously solemn as if she had 
been invited to attend a royal funeral when, about 
the time that the famous palace clock over the bal¬ 
cony announced the hour of two, she stood waiting 
in an anteroom belonging to the “apartments of 
the queen,” now sacred to the young dauphiness. 


292 


WHITE FIRE 


It had all passed like a confused dream—her ride to 
Versailles, that dazzling center of the universe, 
with the Baronne de Montemar beside her; their 
entrance into the palace, where royal guards made 
way for them; the promenade through a region of 
bewildering magnificence, in which she had a sense 
of being lost in a new and amazing world, over¬ 
whelmed with the vastness of the spaces through 
which she was led; her reception by her aunt, the 
Comtesse de Fontaines, who had met her in the 
antechamber and whose enormous hoop-skirts had 
seemed to Nancy to fill up half the room. Madame 
de Fontaines, with plumes nodding from her tower 
of powdered hair, was employing the moments of 
awaiting the princess’s pleasure in giving her niece 
a list of instructions as to how to behave in the 
presence of royalty. As if Madame de Montemar 
had not already drilled Nancy till she knew every 
step by heart like the alphabet! If only stage- 
fright did not make her forget her lesson, when 
called upon to put it into practice! 

At last the doors opened, and a highly dis¬ 
tinguished lady appeared, the Comtesse de Noailles, 
mother of Henri de Montemar’s friend Louis who 
had helped to protect Nancy from brigands on the 
ride from Amiens. 

This Comtesse de Noailles was the high priestess 
of court manners and decorum, and the mischievous 
dauphiness had nicknamed her “ Madame Eti¬ 
quette.” As lady of honor to her Royal Highness, 
it fell to “Madame Etiquette” to present the “little 


A PRINCESS AND A PARTING 293 


American,’’ whose heart was by this time fluttering 
tumultuously. Before she realized that the su¬ 
preme moment had come, Nancy found herself 
ushered into a truly regal apartment, the glories 
of which she hardly noticed, however, for there on a 
gilded and brocaded sofa sat her “own beautiful 
Princess Marie Antoinette,” whom another year 
would see upon the throne of France! 

Marie Antoinette was very young, not yet eight¬ 
een, and her silken gown of palest emerald green set 
off the springtime freshness of her beauty. A fair 
oval face; a fine, high forehead with a wealth of 
hair rolled above it and powdered, of course, hiding 
its golden gleam; clear blue eyes under arched brows 
and very long lashes; a nose of haughty aquiline out¬ 
line, but delicately chiseled; a mouth, small but full¬ 
lipped and red as a ripe cherry, a mouth that made 
you wish to kiss it, when the princess smiled, as 
she was smiling then—these particulars Nancy no¬ 
ticed as soon as she dared look up from under her 
own lashes, at the idol of her girlish adoration. It 
was a full minute before she did gather courage to 
look up; but fortunately she remembered her les¬ 
son, and with the reverential depth of her courtesies 
not even “Madame Etiquette” could find fault! 

“And so you are the young demoiselle from those 
English colonies across the sea?” said the dauphi- 
ness. “And now you are come home to your own 
land. Are you glad to be in France ? ’’ 

“Yes, madame,” almost whispered poor Nancy. 
Then, encouraged by the princess’s smile and the 


294 


WHITE FIRE 


merry light in the blue eyes, she added: “And, oh, 
madame, I wished most of all to see yonr Royal 
Highness! But they told me I could not, till—till 
—” She stopped. 

“Yes? Till what?” The Princess smiled reas¬ 
suringly once more. 

“Till I had learned etiquette, madame.” 

Marie Antoinette laughed as merrily as though 
she were Louise or Adrienne. Her eyes danced with 
mirth. “Etiquette?” she echoed, with playful im¬ 
patience. ‘ ‘ My poor child, have they been torment¬ 
ing you already with that hateful word?” She 
glanced at her lady of honor with the look of a saucy 
school-girl; then, turning again to Nancy, she went 
on with mock gravity: “Mademoiselle de Fon¬ 
taines, Etiquette is a terrible monster! He lives 
in this palace, and the Comtesse de Noailles is one 
of his keepers; indeed she is his head keeper! I 
wish she would chain him up, but she insists on let¬ 
ting him loose in my presence; and he is always get¬ 
ting in my way! A most annoying dragon!” She 
pouted adorably. “But do not be afraid of him. 
I promise you, he shall stay chained as long as you 
are in this room.” 

“And so you wished most of all to see me?” 
added this royal girl, who, if she could have had 
her way, would have given the monster Etiquette 
his death-blow. “And I wished to see you because 
I had never met any one from America. And 
if the dauphiness of France could have had her own 


A PRINCESS AND A PARTING 295 


way”—another saucy glance at the keeper of the 
dragon—“your adopted brother, whom I hear 
spoken of as ‘the handsome Indian,’ would also have 
received an invitation to this audience. Your 
brother himself is of royal blood, is he not? His 
ancestors were kings, I understand—kings of 
America, before the French were ever there.” 

“Yes, madame,” Nancy agreed politely, “an 
Indian chief is a—a kind of a king, I suppose; a 
wild one.” 

“I have heard a great deal about your Indian 
prince from that delightful boy, the Marquis de La¬ 
fayette,” said the dauphiness. “He has told me 
all about your brother’s adventures with the terrible 
brigand, the Gray Wolf, whom really he should have 
tamed and brought to Versailles for me to see! I 
should treat the ferocious Wolf so kindly, if I had 
him here, he would soon be as gentle as a lap-dog! 
And now your brother has come back to Paris, the 
marquis tells me, to plead the cause of the peasants 
on his cousin the Baron de Sancy’s estate.” 

“Yes, madame, and he has seen his cousin the 
baron, who is very much surprised to hear how un¬ 
happy his peasants are! He is really a very kind 
man, Dick says, when you come to know him; and 
he is going home to visit his chateau and set things 
right! ’ ’ 

“Bravo!” cried Marie Antoinette. “The Indian 
prince has done well! In truth, mademoiselle, he 
is a very knight-errant! I am glad he has sue- 


296 


WHITE FIRE 


ceeded in his quest. And, now, tell me about your 
home in America. But are there not two Americas ? 
One is the America of the South !” 

“Yes, madame, but I am from the North. My 
home is in New England.” Home was a topic on 
which Nancy could be eloquent, as long as she had 
an audience; and, after drawing her out with a few 
tactful questions, Marie Antoinette listened to her 
with a sympathy and interest that warmed her ad¬ 
miration into love and made her forget that she was 
talking to the first lady of the realm. Again and 
again the princess’ soft, musical laugh rippled out 
in her girlish delight over her visitor’s entertain¬ 
ing description of life on the New England shore. 
Once she clasped her hands, exclaiming between 
mirth and wistful longing: 

“Ah, what happiness, to lead a life of such free¬ 
dom! Never to find the monster Etiquette dogging 
one’s steps! Never to—” She checked herself 
and stifled an impatient sigh. “Little Wild Flower 
from across the ocean,” she said, “I don’t believe 
you knew how happy you were over there. But 
when you come to be a lady of the court you will 
look back upon it, and you will know. Yes, made¬ 
moiselle, a lady of the court,” she repeated, with a 
smile, seeing Nancy’s wide-eyed questioning look. 
“I shall send for you to become one of my own 
ladies some day. ’ ’ 

The girl from across the sea could never remem¬ 
ber just how she framed her thanks for this over¬ 
whelming honor. 


A PRINCESS AND A PARTING 297 


“And the Indian prince, he also should have a 
post at court/’ said Marie Antoinette, 1 ‘ since he, 
too, is a subject of France by birth, and of noble— 
I should say of royal blood. He must have an ap¬ 
pointment in the body-guards.’’ 

“Oh, madame, you could never make Dick learn 
court etiquette! ’’ almost laughed Nancy. ‘ ‘ Besides, 
he has to go home to take care of Papa. He — 99 
She stopped, frightened by her aunt’s warning 
glare and the scandalized expression of the Com- 
tesse de Noailles. Their looks informed her that 
this was not the way to respond to a princess’s 
offers of favor. “Madame—I beg your Royal High¬ 
ness’s pardon—I did not mean to be impolite,” she 
stammered. “But Papa will need Dick now, be¬ 
cause, you see, he is going to lose me; and if he 
should lose both of us he would be all alone! We 
two are all he has in the world!” 

“I see,” said the princess, with that winning smile 
of hers. “No, of course you could not both desert 
your father. ’ ’ 

“And I’m deserting him only for a while, 
madame,” Nancy explained. “Dick is cross about 
having to go home without me. He declares I ’ll 
never come back to them; but I shall some day. I 
could not stay away from my father forever!” 

The two countesses exchanged meaning glances at 
this; and Marie Antoinette lifted her tine arched 
brows ever so slightly, as if saying to herself: 
“Poor child! Does she really imagine that she will 
ever go back to those Americas?” But instead of 



298 


WHITE FIRE 


speaking her thoughts aloud, she said to Nancy: 

“I hear that while you are preparing to be a 
lady of my court you are to make your home with 
the Duchesse d’Ayen.” 

44 Yes, madame!” Nancy’s face shone with glad¬ 
ness. 44 1 dreaded so to go to a convent! But now 
it has all been arranged. The Duchesse d’Ayen is 
to teach me etiquette instead of an abbess. She 
calls me her new daughter, and Louise and Adrienne 
call me their sister. Oh, madame, when I heard I 
was not to go to a convent after all, I think they 
thought I was a little out of my mind, for I nearly 
went wild with joy!” 

Warmly the princess congratulated the happy 
girl. Then she motioned to the Comtesse de Fon¬ 
taines to hand her her carved ivory work-box from 
the rosewood table with the gold ormolu mountings, 
that stood near her embroidery frame. She took 
from this box another, a tiny one, but exquisite, 
for it was of gold and enamel, showing her 
royal monogram set in small diamonds and having 
on its lid the Austrian eagle, her own emblem, and 
the dolphin, symbol of her husband, the dauphin of 
France, joined together in friendly union. Open¬ 
ing this fairy casket, she disclosed a gold thimble 
with a band of turquoises around it. She placed it 
on Nancy’s middle finger; it fitted exactly. Re¬ 
storing it to its case, she put the box into the girl’s 
hand. 

44 A pledge that you are to be one of my own 
ladies by and by,” she said, 44 and a sign to your 


A PRINCESS AND A PARTING 299 


father and your brother that I myself will watch 
over you, so they need have no fears for your hap¬ 
piness while you are in France.” 

Here the dragon Etiquette began to growl and 
show his teeth and tug at his chain; and the Princess 
Marie Antoinette knew it was time to dismiss her 
favored guest, or another monster, Green-eyed Jeal¬ 
ousy, would soon be prowling about the palace. 

All too soon came the time when the width of the 
ocean must divide Nancy and the man who had been 
a father and more than a father to her, whose watch¬ 
ful love had held something of the mother in it. 
Before he would yield up his heart’s treasure, Colo¬ 
nel Monteith, canny Scotchman that he was, had 
persuaded her uncle to make out a legal document in 
which he promised to take no vital step bearing on 
his niece’s happiness in life without consulting her 
earlier guardian across the sea. And before resign¬ 
ing her to the Duchesse d’Ayen’s care the colonel 
charged his Dawtie earnestly: 

4 ‘ Keep the White Fire burning, Lassie. Let it 
mean to you the love of all that’s highest and best: 
love of God, love of home—” 

“Love of you she interrupted, nestling his hand 
against her cheek. 

“Love of those who love you best,” he said, and 
kissed her. “Keep your ideals high, Lassie. Hold 
the torch aloft.” 

Good-byes that mean long partings are strange, 
unnatural things. People neither say nor do what 


300 


WHITE FIRE 


you would expect of them, and the fuller their hearts 
the fewer their words. So it was when the colonel 
and his son said farewell in the Duchesse d’Ayen’s 
garden to the girl without whose merry, wilful, lov¬ 
able presence the manor farm on the Narragansett 
shore was going to seem a queer, lonely, changed 
place, hardly like home at all. Yet instead of ad¬ 
mitting the fact and telling her, “We ’ll miss you 
mightily, Nan!” Dick remarked: 

6 ‘ This garden’s big enough to hold a regular fox¬ 
hunt in—horses and hounds and all! ” 

When Colonel Monteith spoke, it was with poor 
pathetic attempts at playfulness, and Nancy, instead 
of clasping him around the neck and whispering her 
favorite pet names for him, slipped into his hand a 
bow of blue ribbon. 

“Please tie this on Caesar's collar for the poor 
old doggie to remember me by. It will be so becom¬ 
ing to him!” she said, with a queer little laugh. 

That was the only bit of sentiment she showed, 
sentiment for the mastiff Caesar! Something 
seemed to have frozen even her love. She appeared 
cold, stolid, indifferent; and her father, who had 
been dreading to hear sobs of grief, felt a chill strike 
through his heart. Dick hated a scene, of all things. 
He abominated tears, and he had been telling him¬ 
self that he hoped Nan wouldn’t “make a fuss at 
the last!” But such was his perversity that he 
found himself annoyed with her for not showing a 
single tear in either eye. 

“She doesn’t care a straw about losing us, now 


A PEINCESS AND A PARTING 301 


she has her princess, and her duchess, and her 
Louise and Adrienne !” he muttered resentfully, 
when, the last kiss given in dazed fashion, Nancy 
had darted away, declaring she hated to watch 
people out of sight. 

Dick and his father had reached the door, after 
taking formal leave of the Duchesse d’Ayen, and re¬ 
spectful lackeys were waiting to how them out, 
when Adrienne, breathless, distressed, came flying 
up. 

“Monsieur! Oh, Monsieur! Come back to 
Nancy, please! She is crying her heart out!” 

Led by Adrienne, the colonel sought and found 
his lassie, hiding in a summer-house, with only 
three unsympathetic marble Graces to witness the 
shaking of her poor little shoulders and hear the 
great quivering sobs. 

“I tried to be brave! I didn’t mean to let you 
see me cry! Oh, I never meant to send you away— 
sad!” she told him, when her head had found its 
rightful rest on his shoulder. 

It was in the summer-house, with Nancy in her 
father’s arms, that the real parting took place— 
a scene too sacred for even Adrienne’s bright, lov¬ 
ing eyes to see. 



CHAPTER XVII 


BACK TO THE FROZEN NORTH 

I ’m coming back to yon! I belong to you, and to 
nobody else in the world! ’ ’ 

It was two years since Nancy had made that 
promise, clinging around her father’s neck, in a 
last embrace. Two years! Yet even now he 
•seemed to hear her voice. The words spoken in the 
French garden rang in his ears, till he found him¬ 
self repeating them, as, bereft of son as well as of 
daughter, bereft even of his housekeeper, Lisette, 
whom he had sent across the sea to be with her 
nursling in Paris, the colonel sat smoking his pipe 
by the fireside, while the autumn rain beat against 
the windows, and an angry surf lashed rocks and 
beach. 

“I’m coming back to you!” But how could his 
lassie come back to him now? He dared not wish 
her back: for this was the year 1775, and the colo¬ 
nies were ablaze with revolution! New England 
was in the grip of war; and it was well that Nancy 
was safe in France. 

A war between brothers! It had come to that at 
last. How could it have been otherwise, when over 
in England there was a corrupt Parliament, by no 
means fairly representing the freedom-loving 

302 


BACK TO THE FROZEN NORTH 303 


British nation, and a king on the throne who was 
working energetically to tear away from his sub¬ 
jects, at home as well as abroad in the colonies, the 
rights that, little by little, Englishmen had won 
from their monarchs, in the course of centuries? 
The measures that aimed to bring that stiff-necked 
rebel, Massachusetts, meekly to her knees had been 
passed by King George’s tool, Parliament, hut not 
without opposition. Some of America’s truest 
friends were Englishmen, and some of these fought 
her battles in Parliament itself! 

“I wish,” cried the gallant, fiery Duke of Rich¬ 
mond, “I wish from the bottom of my heart that 
the Americans may resist, and get the better of the 
forces sent against them.” 

Well, now the duke had his wish; the Americans 
were resisting, and before the year was out his 
Grace of Richmond would he called a traitor for 
declaring: “I do not think the people of America 
in rebellion. They are resisting acts of unexampled 
cruelty and oppression.” 

And there was that captivating young orator, the 
duke’s nephew, Charles Fox, lifting up his voice in 
defense of Britain’s daughter and ready to fight on 
till he became the leader in that battle of English¬ 
men against the war that King George was waging 
upon his colonies. Oh, yes, name after name was 
on the honor-roll of America’s good friends in the 
mother-country, while in his Majesty’s army and 
navy, both, there were brave officers who stoutly re¬ 
fused to take up the sword against their brothers 


WHITE FIRE 


304 

r . \ 

across the sea; and so poorly did recruiting go on 
in Merry England that King George—himself of 
imported Hanover stock, and no real Briton, after 
all—was fain to send for Hessian hirelings to help 
fill up the ranks of his armies. 

“It must be the free New England air that has 
made me a rebel!” said Colonel Monteith to him¬ 
self, knowing to his sorrow that the Jacobites across 
the sea were red-hot Tories, all of them! He was 
wishing that he could knock twenty years off his 
age as easily as he could knock the ashes out of his 
pipe, and have back the soundness of leg that had 
been his before he won that wound in ’59. 

“But who can tell?” thought he. “If it were not 
for having watched Hick all these years and coming 
to know that braw laddies and braw colonies must 
be treated alike and both have their rights and their 
liberties, who knows but I might be a loyalist to-day, 
taking ship for England, like Squire Winfield and 
his family! Aye, Jamie mon! To be a father, 
with a son like Dick, is a grand education!” 

With that, his thoughts, which had been with 
Nancy, swung back to his boy, his absent boy, whom 
he might never see again. 

Where was Dick? Why, at the moment, he was 
fighting for his own life and another fellow’s, in the 
depths of one of those treacherous basins that 
mingled with the shallows of the Kennebec Biver! 

It was for ever happening, as the patriot soldiers, 
on the march to Canada, ascended that most un- 


BACK TO THE FROZEN NORTH 305 

friendly watercourse. Finding their passage ob¬ 
structed, they would have to step out into the stream 
and haul their long, light boats through shallows 
and shoals and swirling, foaming rapids; and again 
and again unlucky ones would plunge over their 
heads into some deep pool lying hidden, as if on 
purpose to destroy them. That was what had be¬ 
fallen Dick and his comrades a minute before. Wad¬ 
ing through the rapids and pulling their boat, they 
had suddenly gone down into one of those watery 
death-traps. True son of Neptune that he was, an 
unexpected ducking, however deep, would have 
meant little to Dick if unencumbered; but now he 
felt himself entangled with a floundering soldier, 
who fastened upon him with the frantic clutch of 
a drowning man. They had a desperate struggle 
under water; but Dick managed to free him¬ 
self from the grasp that would have brought death 
to them both, and at the same time to get hold of 
the other fellow by the nape of the neck. He came 
to the surface, gasping, and regained his foothold 
in the shallows, dragging his nearly drowned com¬ 
rade along with him. Happily, help was at hand. 
That all but fatal plunge into the hole had given 
timely warning to the men hauling up the next boat 
in the line. One of these, a stalwart young musket- 
man, came to Dick’s aid. He helped him to carry 
the rescued man to the bank, and restored the poor 
fellow’s breathing-powers by pressing his chest and 
pumping his arms, while Dick coughed vigorously. 

This lean and brawny soldier so industri- 


306 


WHITE FIRE 


ously pumping a comrade back to life, was Jonathan 
Fairchild, that militant young Quaker, who had 
sorely grieved his parents and whom the Society of 
Friends had read out of meeting for giving up the 
pursuits of peace and joining the patriot army. 
Once he looked up from his labor of mercy with 
an amused expression, and remarked: 

“Thee has returned good for evil, Dick. Thee 
has rescued thy friend Oliver Winch!” 

Dick choked and nodded, being as yet beyond the 
power of speech. Jonathan soon had Oliver on his 
feet again, limp and shaky, but not seriously the 
worse for his misadventure. 

“If thee had been Rhode Island born, Friend 
Winch,’’ said the young Quaker, “thee would not 
have failed to learn how to swim. As it is, thee 
may be thankful that thee had Dick Monteith to 
haul thee out.” 

The others who had shared that unintentional 
dive had also come up safely, and had captured their 
boat, as it was floating down-stream, borne by the 
rapids. Dick was already back at the painter, 
and Oliver Winch had no choice but to take 
hold with him, and haul away manfully, as, steering 
clear of any more treacherous holes, they helped 
drag the boat up-stream. 

To be nearly drowned; to be soaked from morn¬ 
ing till night; to shiver with cold as the bleak au¬ 
tumn air bit through their drenched clothing to the 
skin; to be reduced to rags, and bruised and bleed¬ 
ing, as they scrambled over craggy rocks and scaled 


BACK TO THE FROZEN NORTH 307 

precipices and cut through tangled briery thickets; 
to be leg-deep in mud, as the rains turned the land 
into a bog; to ache with fatigue and know that to¬ 
morrow it would be the same story over again, or a 
worse one—this was all in the day’s work for the 
picked men, marching northward through the Maine 
wilderness, eleven hundred strong, under Colonel 
Benedict Arnold, to join in the invasion of Canada, 
and assist that larger force under General Mont¬ 
gomery in the capture of Quebec. 

Benedict Arnold! Four years later that name 
would be a synonym for foulest treachery, but in 
those early days of the Revolution it was not 
“Arnold the traitor” but “Arnold the hero,” fiery, 
intrepid, and soon to cover himself with brighter 
glory by his unexcelled courage and patient endur¬ 
ance and unselfish, unflagging zeal in that ill-starred, 
but brilliantly audacious exploit, the invasion of 
the North. Not till his soul had been seared by a 
burning sense of injustice, when his services had 
failed to win the honors they merited, did the daunt¬ 
less leader yield to temptation, and fall, to repent 
bitterly in after years, when it was all too late! 
But in 1775 Benedict Arnold was a man to kindle 
hero-worship in the heart of a youthful patriot, and 
he had set Dick’s on fire with admiration. 

Dick had another hero, his fellow Rhode Islander, 
General Nathaniel Greene, whom Colonel Monteith 
insisted on calling “that Quaker boy, Nat,” for, like 
Jonathan, he had been brought up a peaceful 
Friend. White Fire burned in the soul of Quaker 


308 


WHITE FIRE 


Nat, and he had been ready with torch uplifted 
when the call to arms came. The three regiments 
under his command had been pronounced the best 
drilled and best equipped in that motley host, the 
patriot army of 1775, and in one of these Dick had 
enlisted. When the time came to pick men for 
Arnold’s expedition to Canada, young as he was, 
Dick had been among the chosen. So had Jona¬ 
than Fairchild, and a certain private from another 
Rhode Island regiment whose name was Oliver 
Winch. Comrades whether they would or no, 
Oliver and the youth whom he had done his best 
to betray had marched away together when Arnold’s 
division set out for the Kennebec River and the wild 
Maine woods, through which lay the route to 
Canada. Since then they had shared the same toils 
and hardships; and now, about three weeks after 
breaking camp on Cambridge Common, they had 
nearly succeeded in being drowned together, one 
locked in the other’s arms. 

Dick and Jonathan talked it over, as they lay 
side by side that night, trying to get warm and dry 
by the camp-fire, after being drenched for hours 
as they waded through the river and hauled their 
boats along while torrents poured down on them 
from the scowling October skies. 

“I’d give a day’s rations,” declared Dick, “to 
find out what happened between Noll and that sailor 
from the Gaspee, Mike O’Connor, the time that 
Nancy met them on the wharf at Newport?” 

“Thy black boy Pompey heard Winch swear to 


BACK TO THE FROZEN NORTH 309 

betray thee to Admiral Montague, did he not!” 
said Jonathan. 

4 4 Yes, and I came back from France with my mind 
made up to thrash the rogue within an inch of his 
life before they shipped me to England in chains. 
But no arrest, and no Winch! Only Cap’n Terry- 
berry hot on his trail, for giving him the slip in 
Barbados and sneaking home on another ship.” 

4 4 And that was the last thee ever heard of him, 
till ye met on Cambridge Common,” chuckled Jona¬ 
than. 44 I don’t know which looked the better 
pleased, thee or Friend Winch.” 

44 He didn’t have that scar on his face in the old 
days,” said Dick. “I wonder how he got it, 
and what’s converted him to the patriot side, 
after he was so ready to get me hanged by King 
George.” 

44 If words were bullets,” remarked Jonathan, 
4 4 Winch would have had General Howe and all his 
redcoats slaughtered before this! He’s the hot¬ 
test patriot of us all, if loud talking be any proof.” 

A day or so after Dick’s plunge with Oliver into 
the deep pool, Arnold and his men left the last in¬ 
habitants behind them and entered the wilderness. 
Everywhere trackless wilds covered with under¬ 
brush, and unblazed forests of birch and hemlock 
and pine; ahead, mountains that the snow would 
soon mantle, and whose heights they would have to 
climb, looking back on their struggles with the Ken¬ 
nebec as on child’s play! Provisions were growing 


310 


WHITE FIRE 


scarce, and though they were continually coming 
upon the tracks of moose, and seeing the great dun 
animals, with their broad horns and their “ass-like 
heads,’’ spring from their coverts in the bush, it was 
only rarely that one of them could be shot for food, 
so instantly did they vanish. Good health and high 
spirits still prevailed among the hardy young 
soldiers. So far they could laugh at their troubles, 
but the reign of jollity soon came to an end. 

After a time, Famine stared them in the face. 
To make matters worse, many of that brave, de¬ 
termined band fell ill. The others were a forlorn- 
looking host of scarecrows, so worn out was every¬ 
body by hardship and fatigue. Dick tightened his 
belt, redskin fashion, but still the pangs of hunger 
gnawed him, and he looked, Jonathan told him, like 
the ghost of an Indian, come back from the chappy 
hunting-grounds. But “Cheerily, Comrades!” was 
the word, still. Canada lay ahead, whose inhabi¬ 
tants only needed proper encouragement to make 
them rise and throw off the British yoke, at least so 
said everybody, and the soldiers believed it to a 
man. 

And now, when the only ration was flour dealt 
out in scanty quantities, came the turn in Dick’s 
fortunes that separated him from Jonathan Fair- 
child and Oliver Winch. 

Colonel Arnold ordered the sick to be sent back 
and a band of fifty men to press forward in advance 
of the main force, reach the nearest Canadian set¬ 
tlement with what speed it could, and obtain pro- 


BACK TO THE FROZEN NORTH 311 


visions for the army, before all perished of starva¬ 
tion. Dick set off with Captain Hanchett and the 
chosen fifty as an interpreter, for, now that they 
were nearing the border, his knowledge of French 
and his race kinship with the Canadians would be 
of good service. 

Winter apparently began in October up there in 
the wilds, and that night it blew piercingly cold 
till it seemed to him that the wind was a demon with 
icy breath, and that all the powers of the air were in 
league with the British against the invaders of the 
frozen north. 

So Dick and the gallant fifty vanished from their 
comrades’ sight. They were swallowed up some¬ 
where in the great white wilderness that the winter 
daylight only made the more fearsome and ghastly. 
So was the heroic Arnold, the leader whose presence 
had seemed needed to put heart into his men. He 
had set forth, too, in advance, to make success the 
surer, and calm the general fear that the whole 
army would have to winter in those inhospitable 
wilds. How those vanished ones were faring, no¬ 
body knew, but it could hardly be worse than the 
long, shivering, exhausted column behind them fared, 
as it struck northward through the snow. 

Every craggy mound became a mountain to poor 
fellows growing hourly weaker from hunger, yet 
there were real mountains to be climbed, crawled, 
staggered over! One day the order went forth that 
every man must shift for himself. The stronger 
must not delay the march by trying to help the 


312 


WHITE FIRE 


weaker. Cruel though it sounded, it was a com¬ 
mand that had to be obeyed if the whole force was 
not to die there in the snow-covered waste! So 
those who could push onward did so, though their 
hearts were torn, and tears froze on gaunt, frost¬ 
bitten cheeks, as feeble voices called piteously, 
‘‘Will you leave us to perish in the wilderness ?” 

“Reeling up and down those grievous heights,’’ 
comrade after comrade falling by the way, the Army 
of Starvation tottered forward, powerful fellows 
like Jonathan now so faint that a twig lying across 
their path was enough to trip them up and bring 
them to the ground. 

But what is this ? Is hunger making them deliri¬ 
ous? Is this the vision of starved men’s brains? 
Or do they really see, on the brink of the river they 
are nearing, a herd of cattle being driven toward 
them, and horses loaded with sacks of grain? No 
fever fancy! It is true! And these soldiers of 
the wilderness are not ashamed to raise hands and 
eyes to Heaven and bless God for their great deli¬ 
verance. 

“Provisions in sight!” The cry echoes from hill 
to hill, as those in advance shout the good tidings 
to those in the rear. Forward now, to meet the 
deliverers, joy and hope quickening every fiber with 
new life! Soon there is a general entanglement of 
soldiers, animals, and rescuers, as up come the oxen 
and horses, up come the sturdy French Canadian 
farmers, the friendly Indians, and—Dick! 


BACK TO THE FROZEN NORTH 313 


Starvation ended in a glorious barbecue for all 
who could be reached in time to enjoy it. The 
French and Indians turned butchers on the spot; 
then they mounted their horses, and, carrying what 
food they could, dashed onward to bring help to 
the men in the rear, shouting from every hilltop 
they reached, as they sped on their life-bringing er¬ 
rand. Dick was among them, mounted on a shaggy 
Canadian pony, from whose back he threw himself 
again and again, to raise up and feed some poor 
fellow who had sunk down in the snow and would 
have died where he fell, had relief been many min¬ 
utes delayed. He met Oliver, a walking, or rather a 
crawling, skeleton, and tossed him a hunk of bread. 
He found his own company, what was left of it, 
and heard how in those last days men had roasted 
their own leather bullet-pouches and cooked even 
their spare moose-skin moccasins for food! He 
came upon Jonathan, scarcely able to stand, but 
bravely digging a comrade out of a snow-drift. 

“Cheer up, boys!” Dick cried, as he helped them 
to their feet. “The famine’s over! Here’s bread 
and dried meat; and we Ve brought you plenty of 
fresh beef on the hoof!” 

He left them devouring the food, with a kindly 
Indian to help them forward, while he himself hur¬ 
ried on his way down the straggling line, for his 
errand was to report the condition of the scattered 
army to Arnold, as well as to bring it relief. That 
night the smell of roasting meat ascended deli¬ 
ciously; but it was the next morning before Dick, 


314 


WHITE FIRE 


and those of the rescue band who had pushed on 
farthest, reappeared. They returned to the camp, 
supporting on their horses poor, dazed, wasted 
shadows of men, almost too weak to realize that 
their salvation had come. 

“Till I heard the shouting yesterday, I little 
thought I ’d live to see thee again, lad,” said 
Jonathan, as Hick stopped to ask him how he was 
faring now. “In those days when we were chewing 
our shot-pouches and moccasins, I gave thanks that 
thee was not left behind with us to die. Yet truly 
nobody knows who has not tried it how sweet a 
roasted shot-pouch tastes in the mouth of a starving 
man!’’ 

“Well, old leather-eater, I wish I could stay to 
watch you fill up on good roast beef,” said Dick. 
“But I must hurry back to Bully Ben! Sorry to 
desert you, comrades, but I’m a kind of unofficial 
aide on the old boy’s staff, now.” 

Shockingly irreverent of Colonel Benedict 
Arnold’s new aide and interpreter to dub his com¬ 
mander “Bully Ben” and “old boy”! But the 
language in which he made his report was as re¬ 
spectful as his faultless military salute, when, after 
pushing on ahead about twenty miles, Dick presented 
himself before that hardship-defying leader, who, 
with the advanced party, had reached the first 
French settlements. 

It was the last day of the old year, that grim red 
year of revolution, 1775; and it was two o’clock in 


BACK TO THE FROZEN NORTH 315 

the morning. Dick was forging his way through a 
driving snow-storm, fighting his bitter foe, the icy 
wind. For once the wind was to serve as an ally, 
but it was acting like an enemy. It swept furiously 
along the ground, a blast that had teeth in it 
and bit Dick’s face savagely; and just as savagely 
it was biting the faces of all the musketmen and 
riflemen, as they stumbled along blindly through 
the snow, tumbling into deep drifts, picking them¬ 
selves up and struggling on again, remembering, no 
doubt, how warm and comfortable they had been 
only a few hours before in the neighboring farms 
and taverns. But not one of them would have gone 
back to shelter if he could, for the time was at hand 
to win the prize for which Arnold and his band had 
fought their way through the dreadful wilderness, 
and that gallant Irishman, General Montgomery, 
had brought his men down the St. Lawrence, after 
the bloodless taking of Montreal. 

Quebec! The walled fortress town, where the lit¬ 
tle boy Armand and the baby girl Anastasie had 
been among those besieged, sixteen years before, by 
the British, whom Dick had come marching north 
to fight. His native city! How the cry of his blood 
had made him burn with longing to enter those 
walls, while the patriot army, as heroically brave as 
it was pathetically small, was laying siege to the 
Queen of the North! How proudly she kept guard 
over the waters of the great St. Lawrence! With 
what contemptuous ease the English guns had been 
shattering the American breastworks of snow and 


316 


WHITE FIRE 


ice! How galling to have one’s own artillery so 
weak that women, even, came out on the ramparts 
of the town to laugh at it! Never mind; “he who 
laughs last, laughs best”! Though there had not 
been the hoped-for general rising of the Canadian 
French, to throw off the British yoke, “Wait till 
Quebec is ours!” Dick had encouraged himself. 
“Then we ’ll see them all rallying to the cause of 
freedom.” 

And this snow-storm was the signal for the attack 
that must , he kept assuring himself, end in victory! 
A few more hours, and he might be standing beside 
his colonel, triumphant, in the citadel. He ivould 
be, unless he should be lying silent in the reddening 
snow. For the army of liberty must win the prize; 
it must! Failure, after daring and enduring so 
much, was unthinkable! 

If only those two deserters had not sneaked over 
to the British side and put Sir Guy Carleton, the 
governor, on his guard! It cut Dick worse than the 
icy blast was cutting him, to think that those traitors 
were both Rhode Island musketmen.' One of them 
was Sergeant Singleton, the other—Oliver Winch! 

“Why didn’t I let the beast drown in the Ken¬ 
nebec?” Dick muttered between his teeth, as he 
stumbled along by his colonel’s side. 

Three hours gone by! Five o’clock, and the 
storm still driving! A flare of rockets through the 
whirling snow! It is the signal for the attack; but 
these rockets are flaming aloft too soon, for the 


BACK TO THE FROZEN NORTH 317 

little army is divided now, and part of it has not 
yet reached the fighting-ground. 

The sound of heating to arms! It comes from 
within the town. Dick hears it, as he presses for¬ 
ward with his colonel, at the head of the “ forlorn 
hope,” that handful of picked men who are to lead 
the advance. The rest are following in a long, strag¬ 
gling line, pushing on in almost single file, through 
the drifting snow. Pinned to each patriot’s hat, 
which a sprig of hemlock decorates, is the motto, 
“Liberty or Death.” 

They are to attack through the suburb of St. 
Roque, and those drum-beats mean that the de¬ 
fenders have seen the skyward flare of rockets and 
will be ready with a hot and noisy welcome. And 
a hot and noisy welcome that straggling column is 
fated to receive, as it plows its way through the 
drifts—a galling fire from the wall and the pickets 
on the right! The white snow-blanket begins to 
show stains of red, but these are quickly covered 
by freshly falling flakes. 

You, Dick, in the forefront, cannot see what is 
happening in the rear, how your single piece of 
artillery is sticking fast in the snow, and how those 
fellows with scaling-ladders would be sticking there, 
too, but for the destined hero of the day, Captain 
Morgan of the Virginia Riflemen, that giant with 
the voice of thunder. Morgan bellows, roars furi¬ 
ously at the men, and drives them onward. 

Comes the command to charge the first barrier, a 
battery on the wharf. On, boys, and up to it! Take 


318 


WHITE FIRE 


it with a rush! On with you, Dick, hurling yourself 
impetuously forward, at the head of the line of men 
charging through the blinding snow, a whirlwind 
within a whirlwind! Arnold is leading his 44 forlorn 
hope” in a furious attack on the barrier. 

Up come Morgan and his Virginians, to aid in 
the assault. Up come the Pennsylvania Riflemen, 
pressing close after them. But, before the barrier 
is won, down drops brave Arnold in the snow! 
Down goes Dick on his knees beside him, bending 
anxiously over him. He must drag his fallen com¬ 
mander, living or dying, out of range of the bat¬ 
tery, before it can belch forth its grape-shot upon 
them. It is no mortal wound, only a musket-ball in 
the leg, that has brought the hero to the ground. 
But the fiery leader’s part in the battle is over. 
Bitter enough it is to that proud, ardent spirit, to 
have to yield the command to another and leave the 
fight with that first barrier still uncaptured! And 
bitter enough it is to you, Dick, to have to turn back, 
too; but your place is by your wounded colonel’s 
side, unless the order comes—and it does! 

As the men detailed to assist him are carrying him 
from the field, Arnold turns to his young aide: 

4 4 Monteith! ’ 9 

4 4 Yes, sir?” 

44 Back to the battery with you! Tell Captain 
Morgan—” A message follows, ending with a direc¬ 
tion to Dick himself that sets his heart bounding 
high. 44 And don’t let me see you again till the 
fight’s over and the town won. You ’re to stay with 


BACK TO THE FROZEN NORTH 319 


Captain Morgan and take his orders. He’s in com¬ 
mand now, till Major Meigs comes up. Tell him I 
promised you your till of fighting to-day; and he ’ll 
give you plenty! ’ ’ 

Mother Cazotte and Angelique were huddling close 
to their kitchen fire, feeding the flames that would 
die down, and keeping the pot boiling—to be fright¬ 
ened out of their wits was no excuse for freezing 
themselves or starving—and telling their beads, and 
trying to comfort each other, and wondering when 
it would all be over, and whether, when it was over, 
they would still have a roof above their heads! 
Mother Cazotte was the bakeress of St. Roque, but 
nobody was buying hot loaves of her to-day. An¬ 
gelique was her daughter, velvet of cheek and smooth 
of brow, as fifteen should be, with gold-brown eyes 
that were meant to hold the sunlight, but that were, 
on this last day of the year, holding tears. She had 
the look of a frightened fawn that hears hunters 
and hounds sweeping down upon its covert. 

Mother Cazotte and Angelique, by this time, were 
wishing with all their might that those strange peo¬ 
ple, the Americans, with their still stranger talk of 
liberty, had stayed at home, where they belonged, 
instead of coming up here into the peaceful north 
and besieging Quebec, which had had quite enough of 
that sort of thing when the English took it from the 
French; a pest on them for doing so! That was 
what had started the whole trouble, declared Mother 
Cazotte. Liberty? What was it, and who wanted 


320 


WHITE FIRE 


it? If one had enough to eat and enough to wear, 
and neighbors were friendly and trade good, what 
more could one ask for? If these Americans had 
not come, then Mother Cazotte and Angelique would 
not now be quaking with dread, as they prayed and 
kept up the kitchen fire, while overhead in the second 
story British soldiers were keeping up a different 
sort of fire through the windows, not the crackle of 
flames but the sharper crackle of musketry! If 
these Americans had kindly stayed at home, there 
would have been no booming cannon and rattling 
fusillades to drive one mad with fright! And 
Father Cazotte, poor dear man, would not now be 
catching his death of cold out in the snow, and ex¬ 
posing himself to a hail of bullets, helping the Brit¬ 
ish, whom he did not love, to defend the town that 
he did. 

1 ‘Hark, Mother! Hark! They are fighting out¬ 
side our very door!’’ cried Angelique. ‘‘Next thing, 
they ’ll be breaking into the house ! 9 9 

Her mother tried to soothe her. “There, there, 
child! Don’t tremble so. The door is well bar¬ 
ricaded.” 

Those unwelcome heralds of liberty had captured 
the first battery, and their shouts had rung out 
above the rattle and the roar, as they poured in 
through the snow-filled alleys. They had assaulted 
the second barrier, only to be met by a hurricane of 
British bullets, and now they were retaliating by 
routing the defenders of the suburb out of their 
hiding-place, forcing them to a battle in the open. 


BACK TO THE FROZEN NORTH 321 


“Mother, I should not be so afraid if Paul were 
here, ’ ’ quavered Angelique. 4 4 But we are so alone, 
we two!” 

44 Ah, my boy! The saints give him rest!” ex¬ 
claimed Mother Cazotte. 4 4 If we had him here, it 
would only be to lose him. He would rush forth to 
defend us and be shot down.” She took up her 
beads again and began a bit of a prayer for the soul 
of her Paul, the young fur-trader, who had gone to 
his death in the Long Sault Rapids, and left a wound 
that nothing could heal in his mother’s heart. 

Her whispered words ended in a cry that blended 
with her daughter’s wild scream. 44 The saints de¬ 
fend us! They are battering down our door!” 

A furious hammering sounded. An attack was 
being made on the bolted and barricaded front door, 
and the noise was like the pounding of battering- 
rams! Mother and daughter seized what blankets 
and wraps they could lay hands on, and fled down 
to their cellar. Cowering there, clasping each other 
and shivering, they listened to the sounds of battle 
going on directly over their heads. The Americans 
had burst into the house to drive out the red-coated 
defenders. They succeeded, and the din overhead 
ceased, but only to break out afresh, as more Brit¬ 
ish, overwhelming them in numbers, recaptured the 
place. By and by the house was empty of soldiers 
except those who lay silent and motionless; and in 
the final hush Mother Cazotte and Angelique dared 
to creep out of their covert in the cellar. 

They found enemies of half an hour before, ly- 


322 


WHITE FIRE 


ing side by side, brothers in death. They found the 
door of their home a wreck, and the barricade of 
furniture overturned and broken. Mother Cazotte 
rushed to her doorway to see what she could do to 
shut out the icy air and drifting snow. Then she 
turned back to learn why her daughter had not come 
to help her. Angelique was on her knees beside a 
still form stretched out on the floor, one of the Amer¬ 
icans ; he lay at the foot of the stairs. As her mother 
came to her side, the girl looked up, with tears on 
her cheeks. 

“I am so sorry for him!” she said. Gently she 
touched his forehead, stroking back the tumbled 
hair, darker even than her own. She laid her 
fingers on the pale, parted lips to see if any breath 
came flickering through. 

Mother Cazotte bent over the motionless figure, 
with a murmur of compassion. Oh, the pity of it! 
He was hardly more than a boy! She knelt down 
and loosened his blood-stained tunic and felt for his 
heart and placed her hand upon it to find if it might 
still be faintly beating. Her own eyes were full of 
tears when she raised them to meet Angelique’s, 
and her voice quivered as she said: 

“He puts me in mind of our Paul!” 

It was written in the Book of Destiny that the 
Americans should never take Quebec. 

By this time Morgan and his men, all who were 
left to rally around him, were making their last 


BACK TO THE FROZEN NORTH 323 


stand, a long and heroic one, in the shelter of a stone 
house, from whose windows they kept up a des¬ 
perate fire. But a band of Sir Guy Carleton’s men 
had sallied forth from the palace gate and hemmed 
them in from the rear. They were surrounded, 
their retreat cut off; and by ten o’clock they sur¬ 
rendered. Morgan, whose giant form had towered 
in the thickest of the fight, and whose mighty 
voice had thundered through the din of battle, was 
weeping now, with anger and chagrin, refusing to 
yield, defying the enemy to take away his sword, 
but surrendering it at last to a French priest. 

Montgomery had fallen, leading the assault on 
the other side of the lower town. He was buried 
with military honors, for Governor Carleton was 
the man to reverence a gallant foe, and so the hero 
was laid to rest in the northern stronghold that he 
had come so far to capture. 

And Arnold lay wounded. He recovered, and 
pluckily kept up the hopeless siege. Spring brought 
reinforcements, but the patriot army, wasted by 
sickness, was melting away like the winter snow. 
May came, and, before the advance of the British, 
the invaders of the north were swept back, retreat¬ 
ing like the ebb of a tidal wave. Canada saw them 
no more. 

The prisoners left behind in Quebec? After the 
American army had vanished from before the be¬ 
leaguered town Governor Carleton, a humane man, 
presently shipped his captives back on parole to 


/ 

( 

324 WHITE FIRE 

their own homes in the colonies. And when they 
landed on the New Jersey shore Morgan threw him¬ 
self upon the ground and kissed it in his joy. 

But Dick was not one of that home-coming band. 
He was among the missing; and a paroled prisoner 
testified to having seen Arnold’s interpreter, young 
Monteith, shot down in a house that patriot soldiers 
had captured, only to have to surrender it to the 
redcoats. 

“I left him lying dead when they marched me off 
a prisoner,” the fellow reported. 

And so James Monteith, that lonely man, gave up 
his last hope that his boy would ever come back. 


CHAPTER XVIII 


TWO VOLCANOES 

T HE prettiest of girls sat writing in the prettiest 
of blue and gold boudoirs. The frescoed ceil¬ 
ing made a pale azure sky above her, over which 
rosy little Cupids were dancing celestial jigs and 
driving teams of doves harnessed with golden rib¬ 
bons. Satin hangings, matching the painted sky, 
tapestried the walls and bore the coat of arms of 
the house of Fontaines, embroidered in gold; and 
the girl, whose azure gown of lutestring silk blended 
with walls and ceiling, sat in a gilded chair. Across 
the room was a gilded harpsichord. Golden Graces 
and Cupids waltzed atop of the clock on the mantel¬ 
piece. The mirror reflected a bewitching lace cap 
with red-gold curls below it, as their owner bent 
over her letter. Finally, to complete the artistic 
scheme of things, the fluffy white dog, asleep on the 
velvet cushion at his mistress’s feet, wore a sky- 
blue bow on his golden collar. 

What was the prettiest of girls writing? A love- 
letter, of course, to her “little Papa.” The quill 
pen moved rapidly. It wrote: 

And now for my glorious piece of news! To-morrow I 
go to Court, to be with my Queen— my beautiful Queen, 

325 


326 


WHITE FIRE 


who is so kind to me—every day! She has kept her 
promise to have me for one of her own ladies. And I 
am to have two titles! I am to be a Lady of the Bed¬ 
chamber—which I’m sure sounds solemn and sedate enough 
to suit even Madame Etiquette herself! But as the Ladies 
of the Bed-chamber are meant to be companions to the 
Queen, my business will be to amuse her, as I’ve often 
done before, you know, when she has been bothered or 
bored, and has sent for me to come and sing my songs to 
her and tell her funny stories about Narragansett life and 
people. So my other title—which is a secret between her 
Majesty and me—will be “The Queen’s Court Jester.” 

Behold, then, your Naughty Little Dawtie a Court Lady 
at last, with a host of other people turning green-eyed 
with jealousy, and my aunt just beginning to think there 
may be something useful about me after all, since I’ve 
had the luck to win her Majesty’s favor! 

Papa, I love my uncle very much, though of course I 
can never love him as much as I do you. He is so good to 
me, he spoils me! But, as you may have guessed from 
my last letters, my aunt and I agree about as well as my 
little poodle Pompon and her great white cat. 

So every week this poor Oriole has to fly back to the 
Hotel de Noailles to see her Mother Friend and her 
sisters. The last time I flew back, what do you think 
that little black-eyed rogue of a Pauline asked me, quite 
solemnly and anxiously? 

“Nancy, aren’t you married yet?” 

She thinks, because Louise and Adrienne are both mar¬ 
ried, that Nancy ought to follow suit, instead of grow¬ 
ing old and “putting on St. Catherine’s cap,” as they say 
in France. Old, old, so ancient! Past sixteen! It makes 
one shudder to think of it! 

Did I ever tell you, Papa, what Clotilde said, the day 


TWO VOLCANOES 


327 


after Adrienne’s wedding? She piped up, “It’s Nancy’s 
turn next! ’ ’ And the children have been saying it ever 
since, “It’s Nancy’s turn next!” till Nancy is about 
ready to believe it. 

Don’t be startled, Dear Little Papa, if in my next letter, 
I tell you that I’ve taken Pauline’s hint and that your 
Dawtie is a Vicomtesse, like Louise, or a Marquise, like 
Adrienne, or maybe that the Oriole has soared higher still, 
and is a Duchesse or even a Princesse! 

Nothing but merry girlish gabble, that last re¬ 
mark, yet Nancy ’s letter, written before Dick 
marched away to the North, was destined to worry 
poor Colonel Monteith, as he read it in his Nar- 
ragansett home, from which all the joy had de¬ 
parted. Written words differ so much from spoken 
words in their effect. It is so easy for lonely peo¬ 
ple, poring over letters from their far-away beloved 
ones, to read all sorts of startling things between 
the lines! The colonel would shake his head over 
that page of his Dawtie’s letter, and groan: 

“Aye, Jamie, mon, lassies are all alike!” 

Earlier letters had carried him news first of 
Louise’s wedding and then of Adrienne’s, causing 
him to frown much over the ways of French fathers 
and mothers, who thought it their duty to marry off 
“children who ought to be in the school-room, or 
the nursery!” Louise, only a, little older than 
Nancy, had become the bride of her cousin Louis de 
Noailles, and six months later, Adrienne—how well 
the colonel remembered the appeal in her dark eyes, 
when she had called him to comfort his lassie!— 



328 


WHITE FIRE 


little Adrienne, they had married her to “the great 
boy with the red hair, * ’ Gilbert, the Marqnis de La¬ 
fayette ! 

Nancy found herself interrupted, as she penned 
the word “Princesse,” Her uncle’s page arrived 
with a message: “Monsieur the Count has awak¬ 
ened from his nap, and desires that mademoiselle 
read to him.” 

The count, poor little gentleman, had been absent 
from court nearly a month! His arch-enemy the 
gout was keeping him a prisoner in his own home, 
and his one consolation in this dismal exile was the 
sunny, saucy presence of his niece. The countess 
had no time to be a consolation. Etiquette, it 
seemed, required her constant attendance at the pal¬ 
ace. 

Nancy east a wistful glance at her desk. Would 
that letter ever be finished? Then she turned to the 
boy at the door. 

4 ‘ Tell monsieur that I shall be with him as soon as 
I have found the book he was asking for.” 

On her way to the library she encountered a foot¬ 
man coming up-stairs. “Monsieur and Madame de 
Lafayette,” he announced, “to see mademoiselle and 
inquire after the health of Monsieur the Count.” 

Nancy adjusted matters quickly. “Rene!” she 
called to the page, who came to her on the run. 
“Ask Monsieur the Count if he feels able to see 
Monsieur and Madame de Lafayette for a little 
while. Then come down to the Salon Rose and tell 
me when he is ready to receive them.” 


TWO VOLCANOES 


329 


Hoping that her uncle would take a long while to 
get ready—she had so many things to say to her 
friends, and youth talks best with youth, when no 
older ears are listening—Nancy flew down the grand 
staircase at a rate that would have scandalized Ma¬ 
dame Etiquette, and welcomed her guests in her 
aunt’s favorite drawing-room, the “Rose-Colored 
Salon.” 

The two sister friends fell into each other’s arms, 
contriving to embrace very successfully despite 
Adrienne’s enormous plumed hat and cumbersome 
hoop-skirt. 

“Adrienne dearest! Have you come to see your 
poor forgotten Oriole at last?” 

“No, no, not forgotten! Oriole dear, you know 
you could never be that. But here is Gilbert come 
home, and a thousand things have happened!” 

Nancy came out of Adrienne’s embrace to greet 
her other visitor, with her most charming courtesy. 
He matched it with the courtliest of bows and gal¬ 
lantly saluted her hand. What had become of 
the awkward boy of two years before? Here stood 
a young officer whose noble face and bearing were 
set off to advantage by his dress uniform of blue 
and silver. The marquis might still cut a poor 
figure in the minuet, not being of the stuff that danc¬ 
ing-masters are made of, but by this time he had 
learned to carry himself with ease and grace when 
he came to call, if not when he stepped out on her 
Majesty’s ball-room floor. 

“How is my belle-soeur 


330 


WHITE FIRE 


“How is my beau-frere?” 

His “ sister-in-law!’ ’ Her “brother-in-law !” 
Yes, that was the happy relationship, as Adrienne 
had arranged it on her wedding-day. She was 
Nancy’s sister; very well, that made Gilbert Nancy’s 
brother-in-law, just as he was Louise’s. They must 
henceforth call each other “mon beau-frere” and 
“ma belle-sceur”; and they did. 

(1 But, Gilbert, I thought you were still with your 
regiment at Metz!” exclaimed Nancy, for the mar¬ 
quis, transferred from the Black Musketeers to the 
Regiment of Noailles, had been stationed of late all 
too far away to suit his girl wife, not quite sixteen. 

“I came home three days ago, laden with news for 
you, my sister.” 

“News! For nte? And you’ve waited three 
whole days before telling me?” She pouted play¬ 
fully. 

“We were afraid,” he explained, “it might make 
the Oriole wish to fly back to America.” 

Adrienne shot him a warning look. “Gilbert, 
don’t startle her!” 

“But what do you mean? It’s not bad news, is 
it?” cried Nancy, staring from one to the other. 

“Glorious news, 1 call it,” answered Lafayette, 
“and we’ve the king of England’s brother to thank 
for it. You know Prince William Henry, Duke of 
Gloucester, and his pretty wife are over here, trav¬ 
eling incognito . They paid a visit to Metz before 
I left, and the governor of our garrison gave a din¬ 
ner for them. We officers were all invited, of 


TWO VOLCANOES 


331 


course. The prince has had a tiff with King George, 
they say, and he does not seem to feel very loving 
toward his royal brother! He entertained us by 
laughing at him and telling us what blunders His 
Majesty had made, trying to handle his American 
colonies. He told us the same story you had 
told me, about that salt-water tea-party, as you 
called it, that you think Dick had a hand in, and 
how your brave town of Boston was condemned to 
punishment for mixing the taxed tea with good 
ocean brine. And he told us how a force of British 
soldiers was sent to seize two of your patriot lead¬ 
ers, and the arms and ammunition, too, that your 
Americans had stored at a place called—What was 
its name? Wait! I ’ll have it in a minute. Con¬ 
cord .” 

i1 That’s near Boston,” Nancy broke in. “Who 
were the two leaders?” 

Gilbert consulted a slip of paper and announced, 
“Adam and Ancock.” 

“Oh, yes; John Adams—or Samuel—and Mr. 
Hancock! I know them; I mean Papa does. I’m 
glad you didn’t say one of the leaders was Dick! 
Did the soldiers catch them?” 

Gilbert’s eyes lighted with sudden flame. “No! 
But your warlike farmers nearly caught the soldiers. 
There was a battle. Farmers against trained reg¬ 
ulars ! And the troops of King George were put to 
rout! ’ ’ 

Nancy sprang from her chair, with a cry. She 
was pale with excitement. “They beat the red- 


332 WHITE FIRE 

coats* How wonderful! How glorious! But, oh, 
how dreadful to think it had to come to fighting! 
And, if there was a battle, I know Dick was in the 
very thick of it! He’s at Harvard College, you 
know; that’s very close to Boston. And there could 
never be a battle anywhere near and Dick not be in 
it. When was it? Where was it? 

“Last spring. At a place called Lex-eeng-tonne.” 

Lexington! Then Nancy was quite sure that 
Dick must have been in it. How could she wait till 
the next letter from home arrived? She would 
die of impatience to hear; and yet—how she would 
dread the news that it might bring! 

“Oh dear! What will happen next?” she asked. 
“King George will send a bigger army to punish 
the patriots, won’t he?” 

“He has already sent one.” 

“Then—then—what does it mean? Are we at 
war with King George ?’ 9 

“It means,” cried Lafayette, “that your farmers 
of New England have the spirit to draw the sword 
for liberty and man’s rights! And their cause is 
the cause of the whole world!” 

He had risen to his feet, when Nancy rose, and 
she saw him now as Dick had seen him in Auvergne, 
no longer the reserved, silent fellow, accused of 
being as cold as that dead mountain-giant, the Puy 
de Dome, but a very lively and active human vol¬ 
cano, ablaze with the White Fire. 

“Well, if King George sends his armies against 
poor brave Massachusetts, she ’ll not have to fight 


TWO VOLCANOES 


333 


them all alone, I can tell you!” declared Nancy. 
“Rhode Island and all the other colonies will stand 
by her and tight, too!” 

“That they will!” he agreed. “The prince 
says the colonists seem bent on meeting force with 
force, and his stubborn Majesty is equally bent on 
bringing them to their knees.” 

“Gilbert, don’t frighten her! See how pale she 
is!” Adrienne interposed. 

“Yes, do frighten me! Tell me everything!” 
challenged Nancy. “I’m not the kind to go into 
hysterics like my aunt. What more did the prince 
say?” 

“He told us how the whole trouble started be¬ 
tween the king and his colonies. It put me in mind 
of what Dick told me, when we were together at 
Chavagniac. Royal duke though he is, I rather 
think Prince William Henry feels the Americans 
are in the right of it.” 

“What?” exclaimed Nancy. “The King’s own 
brother ? Is he on our side ? ’ ’ 

“Unless my ears heard wrong.” 

“Then I love Prince William Henry!” Nancy de¬ 
clared. 

“He says,” Gilbert continued, “that if your 
Americans could be well led, the rebellion might be¬ 
come a very serious matter, like that rebellion they 
had in England once, when the king lost his head. ’ ’ 

“Oh, they ’ll find plenty of good leaders,” said 
Nancy. “Think of all the Indian fighting they’ve 
had to do! ” 


334 


WHITE FIRE 


“Trained leaders was what he meant,’’ Gilbert 
explained. “ Gentlemen who are trained officers, 
used to command, such as they have in the English 
army, and in ours. But he says the American 
patriots are all of them poor peasants. Unluckily, 
all the gentlemen are on the side of the king. ’ ’ 

“All the gentlemen, indeed! Pray what do you 
call my father and Dick?” Nancy demanded. 
“King George will not find them on his side, I can 
tell him! And, if you please, the free farmers of 
America are lords of their own lands, for they bow 
down to nobody, but are as proud and independent 
as you are! And the difference between them and 
the poor downtrodden peasants of France is as wide 
as the whole world!” 

“A thousand apologies for those unlucky words!” 
the young marquis hastened to say. “They were 
the prince’s, not mine. As for your free farmers of 
America, I vow I would rather stand shoulder to 
shoulder with them in their fight for their rights and 
liberties than command a whole army in any less 
noble cause! There! Am I forgiven!” 

“I was quarreling with Prince William Henry, 
not with you,” said Nancy, beaming upon this en¬ 
thusiastic knight of the White Fire; but the knight’s 
dark-eyed little lady was looking at him with a 
troubled face. 

Generally all sparkle and animation, she was as 
silent now as her Gilbert was talkative. One would 
think they had suddenly exchanged dispositions. 
What was the matter? Nancy noticed that Adri- 



TWO VOLCANOES 


335 


enne kept locking and unlocking her hands nerv¬ 
ously, but how could she guess that her friend’s 
heart was beating as tumultuously as her own? 

Here they discovered that Rene, the page, had 
come down to report and was trying desperately 
hard to attract mademoiselle’s attention without be¬ 
ing so rude as to interrupt. The count was ready 
to receive callers. 

“Adrienne, be an angel as you always are,” 
pleaded Nancy, “and entertain my uncle, so Gilbert 
can have a chance to finish telling me about all the 
trouble! Oh, my poor home! It makes me want to 
fly straight back to it.” 

As the girls mounted the stairs Lafayette turned 
back to pick up the flowers from the Noailles gar¬ 
den that Adrienne had brought to cheer the invalid 
and forgotten in the excitement of the talk about 
the rebel colonies, and so he did not hear what 
passed between them on the way to the count’s 
sitting-room. 

“I hope my beau-frere told the prince he’d rather 
fight beside our patriots than command an army in 
any other cause!” Nancy exclaimed. “And I hope 
the prince will tell that to King George. Oh, can’t 
you picture Gilbert and Dick marching shoulder to 
shoulder, and chasing those red ‘lobsters’?—that’s 
what we call the British soldiers in their red 
coats. Why, Adrienne, darling! What’s the mat¬ 
ter?” 

Adrienne was biting her lip and, before she could 
turn her head away, Nancy caught the glitter of 


336 


WHITE FIRE 


tears in the great dark eyes that were so truly the 
windows of her soul! 

“What is it, dear?” 

“Nothing, nothing! I’m only—silly.” 

Adrienne was smiling again, bravely smiling, as 
they entered the room where the convalescent sat 
in a huge arm-chair with his offending foot on a pil¬ 
low; and she summoned all her girlish tact and 
charm to wile away the count’s thoughts from the 
gout, while Nancy led Gilbert to an alcove where 
they could talk undisturbed. 

“Now,” said the Oriole, longing to take wing 
across the sea, “tell me the rest.” 

“Let me see,” he began; “where was I?” 

“Where Prince William Henry said the Ameri¬ 
cans were nothing but a pack of peasants and had no 
gold-laced and silk-stockinged gentlemen officers to 
lead them to victory.” 

“Oh, yes, to be sure! He said trained leaders 
were needed, and I told him—” Lafayette checked 
himself hastily. 

“And you told him what?” 

“I—I meant to say—” The explanation stuck 
in Gilbert’s throat. 

Nancy turned mischievous. “I know what you 
told him! You told him you were a trained officer, 
and you would like to go and be one of their leaders 
yourself.” 

She said it in pure playfulness without the least 
idea that she was hitting the mark, but she saw 
the young marquis start ever so slightly, and the 


TWO VOLCANOES 


337 


color mount guiltily in his cheeks. Plainly he was 
very much embarassed, but he tried to laugh it 
off. 

“Oh, is that what I said? A courteous answer 
that would be, to tell the Duke of Gloucester that I 
should like to go and tight against his royal 
brother!” 

“It would have been just like you to say it,” 
Nancy persisted. “You ’re always telling us 
you ’re no courtier; and you ’re as proud as a pea¬ 
cock of the fact! Why are you growing so rose- 
pink, Brother Gilbert? I believe you did tell the 
prince you’d like to lead us rebels to battle against 
King George! And, what’s more, you told him 
you’d do it.” 

Lafayette’s cheeks flushed hotter yet under her 
mischievous glance. But he retorted: “Very well, 
then, my belle sceur, if you are so sure you know 
what I said, you’d better finish the story your¬ 
self.” 

“With pleasure!” she laughed back. “You told 
the prince your mind was made up. You were go¬ 
ing to cross the ocean and join the American patriots 
and help lead them to victory.” 

“How could I tell him that, when I’m in the serv¬ 
ice of King Louis?” inquired the blue and silver 
officer from the Regiment of Noailles. “France is 
not at war with England.” 

“No, but you ’re at war with everything that’s 
wrong and unjust and tyrannous,” returned Nancy, 
growing more and more in earnest, as he stood be- 


338 


WHITE FIRE 


fore her, self-convicted by his own confusion, 4 4 and 
the White Fire means liberty to you just as it does 
to Dick, and you ’ve always been burning to find a 
glorious cause to fight for—Adrienne says so—and 
now you Ve found it! My beau-frere Gilbert, you 
are a very poor deceiver. If you wish to hide the 
truth, you ought not to blush so.” 

The blond young officer of eighteen was as red 
as a poppy by this time. He looked at his belle- 
sceur as if she had been something uncanny—a witch 
perhaps! Was she gifted with second sight? How 
could she know that, before he rose from table at 
that memorable dinner-party, he had fully made up 
his mind to cross the sea and join the Americans 
in their fight against oppression? How came she so 
near the truth in her guess as to wffiat he had said 
to the Duke of Gloucester, wdien, at the close of the 
banquet, he had gone boldly up to his Royal High¬ 
ness and plied him with questions about the colonists 
and their quarrel with their king? 

“Now I know,” said Nancy, “why Adrienne had 
tears in her eyes just now, and why she looks so 
troubled to-day.” 

“Tears in her eyes! I did not see any. Trou¬ 
bled! Do you think she looks troubled?” Gilbert 
looked deeply troubled, himself. 

“Of course she does. How could she help it, poor 
darling, when you told her you were going to 
America to fight ? ’ ’ 

“I have not told either her or you that I am go¬ 
ing to America,” he answered coldly. Then 


TWO VOLCANOES 


339 


he shot an anxious glance toward his Adrienne. 
“Don’t you think you were mistaken about the 
tears! Or perhaps they were tears of enthusiasm! 
She is almost as enthusiastic about the Americans 
as I am. She told me herself she hoped they would 
find leaders to help them win. She is a real lover 
of liberty, you know; I’ve taught her to be. She 
thinks as I do about everything —almost everything. 
Whatever interests me, interests her; and she’s full 
of your White Fire. I tell her she would have made 
a gallant crusader.” Suddenly his voice grew im¬ 
ploring. “Nancy, my sister, tell me, do you love 
Adrienne! ’ ’ 

“Love her! I adore her, just as you do.” 

“Then, for her sake, and because of the trouble 
it would raise, if such a rumor were to spread, for¬ 
get all this. Put it out of your mind that you ever 
imagined I might be going to draw my sword to 
help the rebels.” 

“I can’t forget, Gilbert. I can’t put it out of 
my mind, because I’m sure it’s not just my fancy; 
it’s the truth. But I ’ll promise never to speak 
of it to any one. ’ ’ 

“You promise! You pledge your word to keep 
it a secret, this—this notion of yours about what 
I’m planning to do! ” 

“I promise, Gilbert, my brother. I pledge you 
my word. I’m a girl and a chatterbox, but I know 
how to keep a promise and a secret—like an officer 
and a gentleman.” 

Late that afternoon, Nancy knelt down beside the 



340 


WHITE FIRE 


counts chair and took his hand in hers. “Uncle, 
I have been in France two whole years, and—it’s 
time I was going home. ’’ 

4 ‘ Home! You are at home now, Anastasie. This 
house is your home.” 

4 ‘My second home,” she answered, “but I must 
go back to my first home. I must go back to my 
father.” 

“What nonsense are you talking, Anastasie? Go 
back to the British colonies when they are in the 
midst of bloodshed and rebellion?” 

“That is the very reason why I must go. Papa 
will need me more than ever now; for Dick will have 
to be away at the war, and if anything should hap¬ 
pen to Dick, Papa would have nobody left to him 
in the world—but me!” 

“My dear niece, this is madness! Your former 
guardian would be the first to tell you so. He 
would forbid you to come back to him at such a 
time. And certainly I shall not allow you to return 
to a country torn by civil war.” 

“I’m not afraid of the redcoats!” cried Nancy. 
“And I ’ve been so petted and spoiled over here it 
will do me good to suffer a little with the patriots at 
home. Uncle, dear Uncle! Let me go back!” 

“My poor child, you don’t know what you ’re 
saying! But please remember that your guardian 
—excellent man—has never been anything but your 
guardian. He is not your father. He has no real 
claim upon you.” 

“He is my father!” Nancy’s eyes were flaming. 


TWO VOLCANOES 


341 


41 And lie has a claim upon me, a greater claim than 
even you have, Uncle! For he took me for his own 
when I was a little helpless baby—■ Why, Uncle, 
Uncle! What’s the matter? Are you in pain? 
Oh, what is it?” 

Her uncle had turned suddenly very white. A 
spasm of suffering crossed his face, and he clapped 
his hand to his heart. Nancy put her arms around 
him. But after a moment he was better and could 
speak. 

‘ 4 There, there, child! Don’t be frightened. It 
was nothing; merely a twinge of gout.” 

“Gout, Uncle! Up there?” 

“Well, whatever it was, it’s over now. But, my 
child, w r ould you desert a sick man who loves you 
very much and who thought you cared a little for 
him, too?” 

Nancy’s eyes filled with tears. “I do care for 
you, Uncle,” she told him. “You have been very, 
very good to me, always; and I love you very much. 
No, indeed, I won’t desert you. I won’t say an¬ 
other word about going home till you ’re quite able 
to spare me.” 

A month later the new King of France, young 
Louis XVI, heard that his faithful courtier, the 
Comte de Fontaines, had been stricken down with 
heart-trouble and was lying dangerously ill. His 
kindly Majesty came himself to visit the sick man 
and soothed his mind by making him two promises. 

Next day the count died. When the first shock 


342 


WHITE FIRE 


of her grief was over, Nancy pleaded to be sent back 
to her guardian across the sea. Then she learned 
of King Louis ’s first promise, to consider the count’s 
niece as his own royal ward, protect her interests, 
and keep her safe in France while the war-storm 
raged in the colonies. Knowing, however, the 
whims and caprices of mademoiselle, nobody cared 
to tell Nancy just yet about the second promise made 
by the king. 


CHAPTEE XIX 


HER MAJESTY TAKES A DRIVE 

N ANCY had been the queen’s jester for a year, 
but there had come a day when all her merry 
vivacity died, when she had no heart for the joyous 
songs she was asked to sing, and she had to fight 
hard to keep the burning tears from her eyes 
and wear a smiling face while, in full court dress, 
she attended her Majesty through the long ceremoni¬ 
ous hours that suddenly seemed hatefully weari¬ 
some, intolerable! Seeing that something was 
amiss, and resolved to find out what, Marie Antoin¬ 
ette had called her “little American/’ and nobody 
else, to go with her to the retreat that she loved, 
her own private pleasure-house where she could 
fling etiquette to the winds, her Little Trianon. 
There Nancy could at last confide her trouble to her 
queen, and as the tears, so long and bravely held 
back, brimmed over, Marie Antoinette had drawn the 
young girl’s head down upon the royal shoulder 
and comforted her like a sister. 

The trouble? News from home was slower than 
ever in arriving in those days of revolution across 
the seas; but after months of anxious waiting on 
Nancy’s part a letter had found its way to her, and 
sad enough were the tidings that it brought! It 

343 


344 


WHITE FIRE 


had been written before her father heard the report 
of his son’s death, but it told her how the attack 
on Quebec had failed and how word had come from 
Colonel Arnold himself that, after the battle, Dick 
was missing! Missing! That meant one of two 
things. He was a prisoner, or he was dead! 
Either thought was unbearable! Dick, her teasing 
big brother—her very quarrels with him endeared 
him the more to her now—Dick dead! She could 
not picture it. Impossible to think of him as any¬ 
thing but intensely, restlessly alive! But Dick a 
prisoner? Lying chained, perhaps, starved and 
abused, in a dungeon blacker and more horrible even 
than the cell into which he had been flung at the 
Chateau de Sancy! No, no, it could not be! He 
was not the kind to surrender. He was of the type 
that dies fighting rather than yield! Then—then— 
he must be dead. She came to believe this almost 
as firmly as if her father had written the words, 
“My boy has laid down his life for liberty.” 

Marie Antoinette watched over her in the days 
that followed, with the same sisterly tenderness that 
she had shown when first she gathered the girl into 
her arms and listened to her story. She took her 
repeatedly to the Little Trianon, where they could 
be alone together; and she chose Nancy as her at¬ 
tendant, over the heads of a whole group of envious 
court ladies, on the day that her Majesty and her 
bosom friend, the Princesse de Lamballe, drove out 
for an airing in the country. They rode in a light 


HER MAJESTY TAKES A DRIVE 345 

calash instead of the usual heavy and magnificent 
berlin; and did ever a carriage hold three prettier 
girls than the queen, the princess, and Nancy! 

i ‘ My little American, ’ ’ said Marie Antoinette, 
4 ‘you have told me so much about the charms of 
country life on a farm, and the fun of playing milk¬ 
maid and dairymaid and tending sheep and cows, 
that you have put a plan into my head. How would 
you like to see a farm, or, better still, a whole vil¬ 
lage, spring up as by magic on the grounds of my 
Little Trianon !” 

“A farm, your Majesty! A village—at the 
Trianon!” 

“Yes, would it not be charming! Oh, I have 
planned it all out! I shall have my thatched peas¬ 
ant cottage, my mill, my dairy, my beautiful herd 
of cows. And you shall stay with me in my village, 
and imagine yourself on your Narragansett farm.” 

Nancy drew a longing sigh. “Oh, madame, I 
should so love to look into the face of a dear, gentle 
cow again!’ 9 

“Instead of into my face!” the royal lady asked 
mischievously. “Are you growing tired of looking 
at your queen!” 

“Oh, no, madame, no!” Nancy protested, flush¬ 
ing. “I should love best of all to look into my 
queen’s face every day of my life. Rut may I be 
the dairymaid on your Majesty’s farm!” 

“I intend to be my own dairymaid,” announced 
Marie Antoinette. “But you shall teach me how 



346 


WHITE FIRE 


to churn butter and make cheeses and milk cows! 
Now what else can you suggest for me to do on 
my farm?” 

“Your Majesty could raise chickens and ducks. 
Beautiful snow-white ducks! How pretty they 
would look swimming in the pond!” 

“By all means, let us raise chickens and white 
ducks !’ 9 cried the queen. ‘‘Now what more can you 
teach me to do ? ” 

Nancy considered. “I could teach your Majesty 
to fish in your pond and your streams. I used to be 
a real fisher-girl! Dick taught me. ’ ’ 

At the thought of poor Dick and those dear, gone- 
for-ever days, she felt a sudden lump in her throat 
and she had to wink away a gathering mist. Mean¬ 
ing to cheer her up, the queen had driven Nancy’s 
thoughts back across the sea, and instead of quaint 
French villages and peasants drawing respectfully 
to the side of the road, standing bareheaded if they 
were men, dropping deep courtesies if they were 
women, as the royal carriage passed by, she saw 
the curling breakers, the creeping foam, the tawny 
rocks of the Narragansett shore, and a dear fatherly 
face smiling down upon her, and a brown, boyish 
one, lighted up with the joy of some new adventure. 
Picture after picture out of the past flitted across 
her vision, till suddenly she came back to the 
present, with a shock of fright! 

They were driving through the hamlet of Saint 
Michel; and in that village the queen had one sub¬ 
ject who failed to mind his manners and stand def- 


HER MAJESTY TAKES A DRIVE 347 

erentially by the roadside as she passed. A golden¬ 
haired little boy, about four years old, broke from a 
group of children and made a dash for the middle 
of the street just as the royal calash was passing 
his grandmother’s door. The queen and her com¬ 
panions cried out in horror. In frantic haste, yet 
too late, the coachman and postilions checked the 
horses. Down went poor little Master Golden-Head 
under their very hoofs. The Princesse de Lamballe 
nearly fainted; but before even a royal postilion 
could dismount a rescuer was dragging the child 
out from where he lay between the legs of her 
Majesty’s snow-white span. 

A young man, riding through the village, had 
backed his own horse against a cottage wall to give 
the queen’s calash a respectfully wide berth, and 
he had thrown himself from his saddle as he saw 
the little fellow dash into the path of danger. 
Nancy could see him lift the poor little form and 
examine it anxiously, as he held it with his left arm; 
his right he wore in a black scarf for a sling. 

Marie Antoinette leaned from her carriage. “Is 
he killed, the poor child?” 

“Your Majesty, he is not even hurt.” 

The young man carried the little boy up to the 
queen, that she might see for herself. A very much 
surprised youngster stared up at the ladies out of 
a pair of big blue eyes tit for a cherub to own. By 
a miracle, the iron-shod hoofs had not trampled 
upon the chubby little body. The child had not 
even a bruise. 


348 


WHITE FIRE 


By this time the screams of the other children 
had brought his grandmother rushing from her cot¬ 
tage doorway. Her grandson’s rescuer would have 
handed the adventurous mite over to her care, but 
the Queen of France stood up in her carriage and 
held out her arms in passionate entreaty. 

“He is mine!” Marie Antoinette called to the 
peasant woman. “The little boy is mine! The 
good God has given him to me, to comfort my lonely 
heart, because I have no children of my own!” 

All in a tremble and a flutter, the wrinkled grand¬ 
mother ventured up to the royal calash. She could 
hardly believe her ears, or the Princesse de Lam- 
balle and Nancy, theirs, for the queen had never be¬ 
trayed to them how her starved young heart was 
hungering to pour itself out in mother-love. They 
did not know that she had envied every peasant 
mother she passed for having what she, in all the 
splendor of her palace, longed for and lacked. But 
now, seeing this rosy, blue-eyed cherub fallen, like 
a blessing from heaven, straight in her path, Marie 
Antoinette could restrain herself no longer. 
Eagerly she questioned the grandmother about the 
little one. 

“Is his mother alive?” 

“No, madame, my daughter died last winter and 
left five small children upon my hands.” 

“I will take this one and provide for all the 
rest,” said the queen. “Do you consent?” 

The woman was thunder-stricken! She held up 
her hands and gasped. “Ah, madame, they are too 


HER MAJESTY TAKES A DRIVE 349 


fortunate!” she stammered. “But Jacques is very 
wayward; I hope he will stay with you.” 

The queen smiled. “He will stay with me. Will 
you not, my darling? Oh, he will soon learn to 
love me!” Then, to the young stranger, who was 
still holding Jacques, “Give him to me, monsieur.” 

A moment more, and the little boy in the red 
peasant frock and the wooden shoes, with the gener¬ 
ous powdering of country dust over his small per¬ 
son, was enthroned on her Majesty’s knee. He re¬ 
garded her with critical solemnity, while she de¬ 
clared, fondling him: 

“I shall soon make him used to me. I shall de¬ 
vote myself to making him as happy as if he were 
truly my own son. He shall have every care, every 
advantage. And he will be the joy and comfort of 
my heart!” 

“The saints bless madame for taking him off my 
hands!” cried the grandmother. “Five hungry 
mouths were more than I could well feed.” 

“The children shall all have food, clothing, every¬ 
thing they need,” promised Marie Antoinette. 
“The older ones shall he sent to school. I myself 
will watch over the education of my little Jacques.” 

She turned again to the dismounted horseman, 
who stood respectfully, hat in hand. 

“I thank you with all my heart for saving this 
child, and for the part you have played in bring¬ 
ing this happiness to your queen.” 

The soberly dressed young stranger was tall, and, 
though not in uniform, he had the bearing of a 


350 


WHITE FIRE 


soldier. Did that arm in a sling mean a recent 
wound, and, if so, where had he won it? His face 
was a striking one, thin and strong, and bronze of 
tint, with features of a clear-cut aquiline cast, and 
his keen dark eyes looked as if they were used to 
piercing into the far distances and gazing out over 
vast free ranges of land or sea, instead of narrow 
city streets. As her Majesty turned to him, how¬ 
ever, she found those eyes, not viewing things afar, 
but centered on Nancy, who was returning his gaze 
in a startled, bewildered fashion, as though he had 
been some strange apparition, a ghost, instead of 
a brown and stalwart young mortal, very much 
alive! If the queen noticed the girl's wild, almost 
terrified look, she evidently laid it to the fright they 
had had over the child's danger; for, as the object 
of her gratitude, awakening as out of a dream, had 
presence of mind to bow his thanks for her words, 
she added, smiling: 

“But I must know who my little boy's rescuer 
is. What is your name, monsieur?" 

“Armand de Laval, your Majesty." 

Nancy's state of frozen bewilderment ended in a 
wild cry! Etiquette was nowhere; and if the Prin- 
cesse de Lamballe had not clutched her in time, she 
would have hurled herself out of the carriage and 
clung to little Jacques's rescuer in a very delirium 
of joy! 1 

i The little peasant Jacques became the darling of the queen, 
remaining with her even after the birth of her first child, Madame 
Royale, at the end of the year 1778. 


HER MAJESTY TAKES A DRIVE 351 


Before night the court of Versailles had an 
astonishing piece of news to cackle over, like a farm¬ 
yard full of excited fowls. Her Majesty had come 
home from her drive, leading by the hand a tearful 
little peasant hoy, who had kicked the queen and her 
ladies in the calash, and who entered the palace 
screaming with ear-piercing shrillness for his grand¬ 
mother, his brother Louis, and his sister Marianne. 
Her Majesty intended to rear this little rustic as 
her own. A queen adopt a peasant child! Had 
such a thing ever been heard of, since monarchs 
and their courts began? What was the world 
coming to ? 

As a reward for rescuing Master Jacques, so un¬ 
appreciative of royal favor, Armand de Laval, or, if 
you prefer it, Dick Monteith, had received an invita¬ 
tion to the Little Trianon, there to tell the story 
of his adventures, a thing impossible in that chance 
meeting on the road, owing to the obstreperous con¬ 
duct of the cherub. The marquis was to escort him 
to the Trianon; for believing Nancy to he still with 
the Duchesse d’Ayen, Dick had applied at the 
Hotel de Noailles on his arrival in Paris, the night 
before her Majesty’s fateful drive, and Gilbert had 
welcomed him as a brother. 

Gilbert still in France, though a year had passed 
since he had taken his rash resolve to draw his 
sword in the cause of the colonies! But it was a 
fact. Insurmountable barriers had so far blocked 
his way to the New World. Had he renounced his 


352 


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chivalrous dream? Had the awakened volcano 
gone to sleep again? The Puy de Lafayette seemed 
as quiet and cool as of old; but did anybody ever yet 
succeed in looking into the heart of a volcano? 

Marie Antoinette loved her Little Trianon in the 
palace park, as a small girl loves a playhouse. The 
young king, her husband, had presented it to her, 
for a New Year’s gift. 

“Do you love flowers?” he had said. “Well, 
then, I have a bouquet to give you. It is the Little 
Trianon. ’ 9 

Her “bouquet” proved as useful as it was orna¬ 
mental. In that charming pleasure pavilion, beauti¬ 
ful in its simplicity, she could do whatever she 
pleased. She could be alone, or she could gather 
around her a cozy, confidential circle of chosen 
friends, and forget that she was Queen of France 
and therefore mounted on .so high a pedestal of 
grandeur that she was not supposed to step down 
from it and behave like an ordinary mortal. Poor 
royal girl—for she was still only a girl, not yet 
twenty-one! She was hungry for faithful friend¬ 
ships and true affection; but ever since she had 
come to France, a shy, homesick little bride in her 
fifteenth year, there had always been a group of 
enemies at court, ready to criticize her for what¬ 
ever she did, even if it was only a matter of being 
up early in the morning to see the sunrise for once 
in her life! 

These enemies, you may be sure, were not invited 
to the Little Trianon; but probably jealous tongues 


HER MAJESTY TAKES A DRIVE 353 


were clacking spitefully about the favors lavished on 
Mademoiselle de Fontaines and Armand de Laval, 
when Dick arrived, piloted by Lafayette, and wear¬ 
ing a court suit of wine-colored satin; for the second 
time in his life he was indebted to the marquis for 
borrowed plumes! Dick expected to find her 
Majesty enshrined in a blaze of royal splendor, and 
to feel in her presence about as happy and grace¬ 
ful u as a dog in a dancing-school’ ’; so he expressed 
it to Gilbert. He was sure he would make mon* 
strous blunders and cause Sister Nancy to be 
heartily ashamed of him. But where was the royal 
splendor? They reached the queen’s enchanting 
English garden, with its borders of young trees, 
clipped to form a solid green wall; and they found, 
instead of the expected sunburst of glory, what was 
far more attractive, three lovely girls strolling. 
They were the same trio that had looked out from 
her Majesty’s carriage at Saint Michel, the queen, 
the Princesse de Lamballe, and Nancy, blithest of 
court jesters now; and because, though Septem¬ 
ber, it was still summer-like, they all wore white 
muslin gowns and veils and broad-brimmed straw 
hats! 

Marie Antoinette gave Dick a welcome so gracious 
that he forgot the dog in the dancing-school. And 
Nancy? She was radiant, yet there was a question 
in her eyes, as if they were asking, “Are you really 
the Brother Dick I used to know, or are you a 
stranger to me?” 

Had the war changed him as much as three years 


354 


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in France nad changed herf Could this be little 
Narragansett Nan, this young beauty of the French 
court? He could not discover a single familiar 
freckle, or the least gleam of the red-gold, that 
he used slanderously to call carrot-color, in the snow¬ 
bank of puffs and curls topped by that bewitching 
hat, turned up saucily at the side with a silver but¬ 
ton, and a-blush with pink ribbons and abloom with 
roses! A fresh breeze was stirring, and three pairs 
of pretty young shoulders were draped with gauzy 
scarfs, the queen’s silver-green, the princess’s pale 
lavender, Nancy’s the pink of a sunrise cloud. 
And Nancy herself Dick likened, in thought, to a 
cloud, a white cloud, tinged with the rosiness of sun¬ 
rise, and as far above him, as hopelessly out of 
reach, as though she had been floating in the sky! 
He raised her hand to his lips as formally as if she 
had been the Duchesse d’Ayen. Anastasie de Fon¬ 
taines, favorite of the queen, belonged to another 
world from that of the little Sister Nan, whom he 
had held up at the point of the pistol and kissed 
through the carriage window when she had sur¬ 
prised him by arriving in France! 

Did Marie Antoinette guess how he felt? At any 
rate she came to the rescue with all her ready tact. 
After a few kindly words and much sympathy be¬ 
cause of that arm in a sling, she told him that she 
was waiting to be thrilled with the whole story of 
his adventures; but she would not listen to it till 
his “little sister” had poured out the thousand ques¬ 
tions burning on her lips. Meanwhile, they would 


HER MAJESTY TAKES A DRIVE 355 


go a-strolling. She led the way with the princess 
and the marquis, and Dick found himself following 
with the sunrise cloud on his arm. 

“Now, Dick, begin at the beginning, and tell me 
everything straight up to the end, and, for once in 
your life, don’t be as mum as an Indian, but talk 
it out like a Frenchman.” 

There spoke the Nancy of old; and he obeyed, 
which the Dick of old had not always done. 

“And the next thing I knew, I was lying in bed, 
and whichever way I turned, it hurt so, I decided 
I’d better stay still.” 

Dick had reached the point in his story where he 
had been one of a handful of patriot soldiers who 
battered down the door of Mother Cazotte’s house 
and overcame its British defenders, only to be them¬ 
selves attacked by a bigger force of redcoats. 

“Then,” he went on, “I remembered the fight, 
and I knew I must be wounded; but what place I 
was in, I couldn’t imagine! Pretty soon in came 
a woman who looked just like your Mama Lisette, 
and after her a girl with a bowl of broth—” 

“Who looked just like meV y suggested Nancy. 

“Not a bit. She was dark, with big brown eyes, 
and her name was Angelique. The right name for 
her, too. She was angelic, which you never used to 
be; and so was her mother, little Mother Cazotte. 
They spoke to me in French; and Mother Cazotte 
called me her boy; and when she found I’d come to 
my senses, she praised the saints, and Angelique 
nearly dropped the soup. I asked where I was, and 


356 


WHITE FIRE 


Mother Cazotte said if I’d be very quiet and speak 
softly she ’d tell me. Rut I must be a good boy, 
and do just as she told me; or the English would 
come and take me from her and put me in prison. ’ ’ 

He repeated to Nancy what Mother Cazotte had 
told him; how she and her daughter had found him, 
after the fighting was over, lying wounded and un¬ 
conscious. 

“I was not quite dead, but pretty near it. But 
she set to work to save me if she could. I don’t 
see why, after I’d helped to smash her door, in the 
midst of a snow-storm! But if there’s an angel on 
this earth it’s little Mother Cazotte.” 

‘‘Bless her heart!” cried Nancy. “But, oh, you 
poor boy, lying there, wounded!” 

“I had some pretty bad holes through me,” he 
admitted, in answer to her anxious questioning. 
“But it takes a good many to kill a rascal like me. 
Well, she managed to keep the life in me till her 
husband came home; and between them they carried 
me up-stairs and put me to bed. And there I 
lay like a log for I don’t know how many days or 
weeks! But I must have been a pretty noisy log, 
for I was out of my head all the time. I thought I 
was a boy at home and it was Mother Lisette taking 
care of me. So I did all my raving in French. 
That’s what saved us! She was able to pass me 
off as her nephew from the country. That was the 
story she told the British officer who looked in to 
make sure no rascally rebels were hiding there. 
She had burned my clothes, so he found nothing 


HER MAJESTY TAKES A DRIVE 357 

suspicious; and she told him how her poor, good 
nephew had come to visit her and stayed to defend 
her and been wounded when the Americans attacked 
the house. He took pity on her and sent an army 
surgeon to mend her ‘ nephew.’ 

‘ ‘Well, now that I had come to my senses, I had 
to go on being her nephew! She had tied a St. 
Francis medal around my neck, so her neighbors 
would take me for a good French habitant; and I’m 
sure they thought my wolf’s tooth and claw were 
relics of the wolf St. Francis tamed. Yes, I have 
them still. They’ve been through all the marching 
and fighting, and if I get back the use of this right 
arm they ’ll go through some more!” 

“Did nobody guess who you really were?” asked 
Nancy. 

“Brother Joseph did. But he kept my secret. 
He belongs to an order that goes about converting 
the Indians and nursing sick people; and as the 
surgeon was too busy to bother over me after the 
first, he went on dressing my wounds. It was weeks 
before I was out of bed; and that little brown angel 
in the big cap took care of me like a mother. Nancy, 
after the war’s over, if I can ever get back to Que¬ 
bec without being shot for a rebel, I’m going to see 
Mother Cazotte and Angelique, and if there’s any¬ 
thing in the world I can do for them, I ’ll do it. 

“Well, it was an age before I could do more than 
crawl about the house and yard, dressed like a 
Canadian peasant, and trying to talk like one. The 
Cazottes keep a bakery, and I helped mind it for 


358 


WHITE FIRE 


them; and I made myself as useful as I could while 
I was waiting for a chance to steal across to the 
American lines. But the British were on the watch, 
and there was no slipping through. Then in May 
the war-ships came up the river, bringing Carleton 
reinforcements, so he marched out of the city to at¬ 
tack us; and our army, what was left of it, had to 
break camp in a hurry and retreat. I was still too 
weak to catch up with it, even if I could have slipped 
through the lines; and it was June before my chance 
came! Then, at last, one day the British fleet, with 
Carleton’s army aboard, sailed up the river toward 
Montreal. They were pushing on after the Ameri¬ 
cans; and I decided to push on after the British. 
My plan was to follow up the St. Lawrence as far 
as I could, then cross to the south shore and tramp 
overland till I could fall in with our men, who, I 
knew, would be striking out for Lake Champlain and 
home. 

“Now that there was only a handful left to de¬ 
fend Quebec, it was easy enough to slip away; and 
when Brother Joseph found he couldn’t get me to 
join his order he hired a friendly Indian to take me 
up the river in his canoe. So I took my leave of 
the Cazottes, and little Mother cried when we 
parted; and so did Angelique ! 91 

“I’m afraid you’ve left your heart behind you 
in Quebec!” declared Nancy. 

“A good half of it,” he owned. “I love those 
two as if they really were my mother and my sister. 
Well, the Indian was to wait for me a mile or two up 


HER MAJESTY TAKES A DRIVE 359 


the river, and I was on my way with Brother Joseph 
to meet him when I had my first stroke of bad luck. 
I fell in with that beast of a deserter, Winch!” 

“Oliver Winch again!” gasped Nancy. “Dick, 
he follows you like some horrible Fate!” 

“He was lounging outside a tavern,” said Dick. 
‘ 4 1 could n’t tell whether he recognized me or not; 
but I saw he had lost two fingers from his right 
hand, so he was no more good to the British army 
than to ours.” 

“I wish he ’d lost his hands and his arms and his 
head, too!” cried Nancy. 

“You ’ll wish so harder in a minute. The Indian 
and I started up the river, paddling all day, and 
sleeping under our canoe by night. We noticed an¬ 
other canoe following, but we paid no heed; there 
were plenty of Indians and traders going our way. 
That canoe must have passed us one night, while 
we were asleep; for we woke at dawn to find our¬ 
selves surrounded by men from one of the British 
frigates. Winch was with them. He had been dog¬ 
ging us all the way and, catching us napping, he had 
shot ahead and given the alarm to the nearest fri¬ 
gate. So they sent out a party to arrest me. A 
young ensign was in charge of it, a friend of 
yours. ’ 9 

Nancy gasped again. “Oh, Dick, not—not Phil 
Templeton ? 9 ’ 

“Phil it was; and he couldn’t help knowing me 
when Noll pointed me out. But I never saw any¬ 
body look so sorry to do his duty. He said, ‘I hate 


360 


WHITE FIRE 


to arrest you, but I must.’ I told him to go ahead. 
It was all in the line of his duty. But I called 
Noll a traitor in terms not polite enough for the 
Trianon; and Phil told the cur he’d like to hang him 
from the nearest tree! Good old Phil! He stood 
by me like the gentleman he is! He had to 
carry me off to his frigate, of course, and if it 
hadn’t been for him they’d have hanged me for a 
spy. But he kept alongside me and fought for my 
life like a man and a brother. And his commander 
was the right sort of a Briton, not one of your 
Dudingstons; so when Winch up and testified that 
I was one of the rogues who had burned the 
Gas pee —” 

“He brought up the Gaspee against you! Oh, 
the serpent!” raged Nancy. “The wicked, poison¬ 
ous serpent! Why should he follow you with his 
hate all these years?” 

“He was looking for a reward; and he’s got it 
by this time. But, as I say, Phil’s commander was 
of the right stuff; and so, instead of hanging me 
for my sins, he decided to ship me to England 
and let them settle my fate over there. So, after 
a long stay aboard his frigate, where I had better 
treatment than I’d dared to hope, thanks to Phil, 
I was transferred to a sloop of war that was to 
carry some invalided officers back to England. 
They shipped Winch along with me for a witness; 
he and I seemed never to be able to part company! 
And Phil vowed he’d go with us, if they’d let him, 
and heave Noll overboard to feed the sharks; but 


HER MAJESTY TAKES A DRIVE 361 

his commander would n’t give him leave. The boy 
did the best he could for me, though. He per¬ 
suaded the Captain of the sloop not to keep me in 
irons, after we were out of sight of land—” 

“In irons!” echoed Nancy. “Did they chain 
you? Oh, how cruel!” 

“A compliment. That shows how valuable 
they considered me. When we were well out to sea, 
I gave them my word of honor not to jump over¬ 
board, and they unshackled me and left me free 
to move about.” 

“And that was Phil’s doing! Dear, good- 
hearted Phil!” exclaimed Nancy. “I’ll love him 
like a brother, forever! I forgive him a 
hundred times over for being on the wrong side! 
If he were on our side, he could n’t have saved your 
life. But'how ever did you escape from that ship!” 

“Why, we ran into foul weather, and when the 
storm was over we found two American privateers 
bearing down upon us. I nearly gave a cheer when 
we sighted the two Yankees. I swallowed it just 
in time to escape being clapped into irons again. 
Then the fun began. A sloop of war against two 
Yankee privateers; it was a lively fight! They 
hemmed us in between them and peppered us well. 
The Englishman fought gamely, but we couldn’t 
hold out against a double set of broadsides! They 
raked our decks and riddled our hull and splin¬ 
tered our main mast; and we were ready to sink 
while they were as full of fight as ever! All of 
us who were not manning the guns were working 


362 


WHITE FIRE 


hard at the pumps to keep ourselves afloat; but 
still the captain refused to strike his colors. Then 
they boarded us. There was a hand-to-hand fight 
as the Yankees swarmed over the bulwarks with 
pikes and cutlasses, and grenades were bursting 
everywhere! A piece of one caught me in the 
shoulder.” 

“I hope the rest of it hit Oliver,’’ interrupted 
the vengeful Nancy. 

“No; but after that the captain surrendered. 
His sloop was sinking; and the whole batch of 
prisoners was taken aboard the Comet; that was 
one of the privateers. The other was the Defiance. 
I told the Yankee captains who I was and why I 
was aboard a British sloop. And I told them who 
Winch was—a deserter! And this time he and I 
did part company for good. They put him aboard 
the Comet and me aboard the Defiance.” 

“What were they going to do with him?” Nancy 
asked breathlessly. 

“Hand him back to the army he deserted.” 

“And what will the army do to him!” 

“The army has done it, probably,” Hick answered 
grimly; and Nancy shuddered. 

“I want to forget that I ever heard his name!” 
she said. “Tell me about yourself. Poor boy! 
Wounded again!” 

“I thought I was heading for home, but it turned 
out I was heading for France! You see, when I 
told who I was, I let slip how I’d been posing as 
a French Canadian. The Defiance was bound for 


HER MAJESTY TAKES A DRIVE 363 

Havre, and her captain, who couldn’t speak French 
himself, thought if I could, I’d be useful in dealing 
with the 1 frog-eaters. ’ So he took me aboard his 
ship, but he kept mum about his plans. He was a 
tough old sea-dog, and a sly one, too! I was angry 
when I found out. Then I thought of you , Nancy, 
and how long it was since I had heard any news of 
you. And I knew I couldn’t handle a musket for 
a good while to come, if ever; so I began to like 
the idea of seeing France again.” 

“I love that captain!” declared Nancy. “But 
your poor shoulder?” 

“Oh, he patched it up for me. But Lafayette 
swears I sha’n’t go home till he’s had the best 
surgeon in the French army overhaul me properly.” 

Dick did not tell her how, arrived at Havre, the 
Defiance had taken on a cargo that included arms 
and ammunition for the patriot army. But he did 
tell her how rich the masters of American priva¬ 
teers were growing as a result of capturing British 
vessels, and how the captain of the Defiance , hav¬ 
ing reaped a fine harvest of prize-money, had 
handed him over a generously filled purse, to make 
up for kidnapping him, so that a very respectable 
young traveler had reached Paris and presented 
himself at the Hotel de Noailles. 

“And yesterday,” said Dick, “while they were 
sending a messenger off to the palace to tell you 
I was alive, I rode out to see the Montemars and 
met the queen’s carriage.” 

“And, now you’re here,” returned Nancy, “you 


364 


WHITE FIRE 


must stay. I stand by Gilbert. You shall not go 
back till your right arm’s as good as your left. 
But when you do go—” she lowered her voice to a 
whisper—“I don’t care what the king says, 1 ’m 
•— going — home — too.” 


CHAPTER XX 


NANCY IN AMBUSH 

‘ l^TANCY, are you happy here?” 
lAI 4 ‘Happy! Don’t I look happy?” 

“Why, yes, you look so. And, Gemini! but you 
look pretty! I thought, seeing you walking with 
the queen and the princess, you must be so happy 
here, life on the old home farm would taste about 
as good to you, as—mouldy crusts, when you ’re 
used to mince-pie!” 

Nancy laughed at Dick’s simile. “One could 
grow tired even of mince-pie,” she returned, “if 
one had it for breakfast and dinner and supper 
every day in the year. I don’t mean I’m tired of 
waiting on my queen. I love her, Dick! I adore 
her, but—” 

Having heard his story, she had been telling him 
•hers, and more than once a wistful or impatient or 
even a homesick note had crept into her voice, hint¬ 
ing that life in France was not all bliss. 

“But you declare you ’re going home when 1 
go! ” said Dick. 

“And I am, no matter if all the kings in Europe 
call me their ward!” 

“And you say, after your uncle died, you fought 
to come back to us—” 


365 


366 


WHITE FIRE 


“I fought to come back to Papa,” she corrected. 
“I didn’t say I fought to come back to you, Dick. 
I’m going home with you, all the same.” 

“I wish you could, Nan! But war days aren’t 
the time—” 

‘‘War days fiddlesticks! Do you wish me to die 
of mince-pie?” 

“I wish you to answer my question. Are you 
happy here in France?” 

“Happy!” Nancy echoed again. “I’m as happy 
as a queen. Queens are not always happy,” she 
added. “I’ve found that out. I’d be happier if 
it were not for that wearisome hyacinth plant!” 

“Hyacinth plant?” Dick glanced at the garden 
bed they were passing; but as this was not the 
springtime he saw no such flower blooming there. 

“Ces deux jacinthes!” she murmured. 

“Those two hyacinths?” he translated. 

“Yes, and I assure you two are enough! Don’t 
you hate the scent of hyacinths? It’s so— oppres¬ 
sively sweet! There are the Hyacinthe and the 
Bud,” she went on, “Brother Hyacinthe and 
Nephew Hyacinthe. I’m sure they must use up 
quarts of perfumery every week. That’s why I 
twist them into English hyacinths.” 

Dick looked amazed that she should have acquired 
a brother and a nephew in France. He was ready 
to resent the fact. 

“They ’re not my brother and nephew,” Nancy 
explained. “They ’re my aunt’s. I don’t mind 
the Bud; he’s only a bud. He’s a ridiculous little 



NANCY IN AMBUSH 


367 


goose, to be sure, Dut he amuses me. I call him 
Pompon, not to his face but to the queen, who says 
it's a perfect name for him! He reminds me so, 
of my poodle Pompon, when I 've just curled his 
hair—the poodle's, I mean. And I don't know 
which Pompon is the more conceited! But it's 
the old Hyacinthe who makes me furious. He's 
the Comte de Valence. Dick, what if he is my 
aunt's brother? She's only my aunt-in-Zaw;. That 
doesn't make him my uncle, does it?" 

“Certainly not answered Dick, with warlike 
emphasis. 

“But he acts as if he were my uncle, and my 
guardian, too!" declared Nancy. “He acts as if 
he owned me! Whenever I come back from court, 
he's always at the house, it seems to me; and he 
insists on giving me all sorts of fatherly advice, 
which of course I never pay any attention to! But 
he keeps on giving it, just the same. And he talks 
about my high station and my future life in France, 
as if he had the settling of it! And when I tell 
him I'm going back to Papa some day he lifts his 
eyebrows and smiles that smile of his! I truly be¬ 
lieve he thinks I belong to him and he can do with 
me whatever he pleases." 

Dick's eyes flashed hostility at the invisible hy¬ 
acinth plant. “Nobody in France has any claim 
upon you, now your uncle is dead. You belong to 
us.” 

Nancy looked up at him with mischievous eyes. 

“ ‘To usV I don't belong to you, Dick. You 


368 


WHITE FIRE 


never made my uncle sign a paper promising not 
to marry me off to a prince or anybody without your 
consent. I belong to Papa and to myself. And 
when myself chooses to go home, she’s going.” 
Suddenly she asked, “Dick, did you ever see that 
paper that Papa told me he had my uncle make out 
and sign and seal, before he would give me up to 
him !’ ’ 

“Yes, I ’ve seen it—Father’s duly attested copy. 
They can’t marry you off or clap you into a nun¬ 
nery, or do anything with you, without first consult¬ 
ing him. But, Nancy, I do feel as if you belonged 
to me, too. And I tell you, if they dare try to tyran¬ 
nize over you—” 

“You ’ll tomahawk them, won’t you, Chief Can- 
onicus!” she laughed. “Or glare at them as 
you ’re doing now, with your Indian-on-the-war- 
path look! That ought to be enough to wither even 
a hyacinth. I don’t see,” she added, with a troubled 
frown, “how my uncle could have liked those two 
so much. I suppose he thought he had to be fond 
of his wife’s brother and nephew. And, then, 
of course, they were very good and attentive to him, 
all the time he was ill. And my aunt adores them! 
She dotes on the Bud!” 

“But that paper, did you ever see it!” asked 
Dick. 

“Never.” 

“You ought to. It’s your right.” 

“I must ask my aunt about it some day when 


NANCY IN AMBUSH 


369 


she ’s not too peevish,’’ said Nancy. “Of 
course I know what her answer will be, that I’m 
a tiresome child, and I must not agitate her nerves. 
And if I keep on agitating them we ’ll have a scene. 
But she did tell me once about the money that my 
uncle left me for my dowry. You know, Dick, girls 
in France have no chance to be married unless they 
have dowries. Nobody wants them.” 

Dick scowled as he asked, “What about your 
dowry?” A dowry meant a bride, and he did not 
relish the thought of Nancy, a bride, in France . 

“Why,” she answered, “I’m not my uncle’s heir, 
you know. There’s that spoiled boy cousin of 
mine, about my age, Auguste de Fontaines, whose 
father was killed in the last war, like mine—only 
in Germany. Well, Auguste is the Comte de 
Fontaines now, just as if he were Uncle’s son; but 
7 have the same dowry that I’d have if I were 
Uncle’s daughter. He used to say that he loved 
me as much as if I were; but my aunt says it’s 
down in his will that if I ever go back to America to 
live I lose my dowry. It’s mine only if I stay in 
France. If I go home to live with Papa, the money 
all goes to an old convent that a relative of mine 
founded. My aunt told me about it when I was 
teasing to be sent back to America after my uncle 
died. I think she did it to scare me into being 
contented to stay in France. As if all the money 
in the world—There’s the queen beckoning to us 
now!” Nancy interrupted herself to exclaim. “She 


370 


WHITE FIRE 


thinks I Ve had time enough for my thousand ques¬ 
tions. Come, Dick! She’s waiting to hear your 
story.’ ’ 

Dick did not sail home on the privateer. He 
stayed as he was bidden. His term of enlistment 
had run out before he escaped from Canada, so 
that he was under no obligation to hurry home; 
and, thanks to Lafayette, the best surgeon in 
France had examined his crippled shoulder and 
arm and told him that his only hope of ever serving 
in the army again lay in giving up several months 
to having his injuries cured. Of course the only 
person in the world who could accomplish that cure 
was the great surgeon himself! Luckily he was 
also a friend of freedom, and called mending a 
Revolutionary soldier his “contribution to the glo¬ 
rious cause of liberty.” So Dick gave in and ac¬ 
cepted the invitation to spend his months of mend¬ 
ing at the home of the Baron de Montemar. It was 
the young baron now; for Colonel Monteith’s old 
friend slept with his fathers by this time, and his 
son Henri reigned in his stead. But though Dick 
had returned to the lap of luxury he did not lie still 
enough to grow fat and lazy in it; instead, he be¬ 
gan to be very busy, as Nancy finally learned with 
a shock. 

One day the queen’s jester, being off duty, was 
to be found at home; or rather she was not to be 
found at all, till you parted the velvet portieres 


NANCY IN AMBUSH 


371 


curtaining the alcove in her uncle’s library. Those 
crimson portieres hid from view his much-prized 
cabinet of richly carved ebony, a regular museum of 
treasures, and it also hid at that particular hour, 
shortly before the countess’s dinner-time, a girl who 
was feeling as uncomfortably guilty as though she 
had been about to commit burglary. Nancy was try¬ 
ing to recall exactly how her uncle had set to work 
when once, after binding her by a playful pledge 
never to reveal the mystery of mysteries that he 
was unfolding to her, he had opened the secret com¬ 
partment of the cabinet. She went over the scene, 
in memory, step by step. The count had done this 
and he had done that; and finally, with magician¬ 
like deftness, he had pressed a certain inside panel. 
The panel had given way, disclosing a good-sized 
cubbyhole containing several scrolls of very legal- 
looking paper. One of these scrolls he had hastily 
tucked out of sight, as she stood beside him, and, 
pinching her cheek, he had said, 4 ‘That is not meant 
for your bright eyes to read, at the present time.” 

What more was needed to inflame Nancy’s curi¬ 
osity? From that moment she had burned to know 
the secret hidden from her “bright eyes”; and to¬ 
day, as she thought over the incident, she had come 
to the conclusion that the paper which her uncle 
had been induced to sign, before the wise and wary 
colonel would give up his lassie, and the scroll that 
she had seen him tuck out of sight, were one and 
the same. As she turned the key of the cabinet 


372 


WHITE FIEE 


she was trying to still that guilty sense of com¬ 
mitting robbery, or at least sacrilege, by telling her¬ 
self : 

“I ought to see it. Hick says I ought. It ’s my 
right. I ’m doing it out of loyalty to Papa.” 

Setting to work to perform the rites that were 
the open-sesame to the secret cubbyhole, she ad¬ 
vanced as far as tapping and pressing the panel; 
but while it was still refusing to yield to her she 
stopped, caught her breath, and turned suddenly 
burning hot, like one pounced upon in the act of 
pilfering. 

She heard a voice, her aunt’s, saying: “Come, 
let us have our conversation in this room. My dear 
Hyacinthe, will you have the goodness to close the 
door?” 

With a start of recollection, Nancy remembered 
that she had heard something about the Comte de 
Valence being invited to dinner that day! But 
what malignant influence brought him and her aunt 
into the library, where she had never known them 
to sit before? She had drawn the portieres to¬ 
gether after entering the alcove, but now she 
peeped out between them, cautiously. Horrors! 
There were three intruders, her aunt and both 
hyacinth plants! It was the Bud who was closing 
the door. She watched him turn and mince up to a 
chair and arrange it for the countess. He was a 
pretty little fellow—“pretty” best described his 
features and his graceful trimness—dressed in the 
height of fashion. And his hair, with the puffy 


NANCY IN AMBUSH 


373 


toupet in front! It outpoodled Pompon’s, so ex¬ 
quisitely was it curled. He was about the age 
of Dick, and resembled him as much as the fluffy 
lap-dog did the mastiff Caesar. 

Hyacinthe the elder was of a more masterful 
type, a panther instead of a poodle. But a pan¬ 
ther is, after all, a great cat; and the Comte de 
Valence had a purring softness of manner which 
Nancy detested. She would rather have heard him 
growl; but he was purring now, as he asked: 

“And why, my dear Julie, do you choose this 
room? You have told me its somberness makes 
you melancholy.” 

“Why?” Nancy heard her aunt respond. “Be¬ 
cause Anastasie is less likely to intrude upon us 
here. The spoiled child! She was more vexatious 
than ever this morning.” 

“And the more vexatious the more charming,” 
purred Count Hyacinthe. “Is it not so, my son?” 

Nancy could not hear whether the Bud agreed 
or not; but she did hear the voice of Honor whis¬ 
pering: “Come out of your hiding-place. Don’t 
play the eavesdropper.” Yet her feet refused to 
move, and her hands to part the curtains, and her 
tongue to speak; and in the face of such mutiny 
what could their owner do? 

“I am glad you can find her caprices charming!” 
she heard her aunt exclaim petulantly. “She has 
been more wilful than ever since that person whom 
she insists on calling her ‘brother’ has appeared 
on the scene. Why, she actually announces that 


374 WHITE FIRE 

when lie goes home she is going, too. The little 
imbecile!’ ’ 

“When he goes home!” The pnrr became a low 
laugh. “I predict that he will go home very 
shortly, but without his charming ‘ sister.’ In fact, 
I think I can even hasten his going home.” 

Nancy stopped trying to make her mutinous mem¬ 
bers obey. She made up her mind to stay and 
listen. 

“You think this young rebel from America is 
inciting our pretty Anastasie to be a rebel, too?” 
asked Brother Hyacinthe. 

“I’m quite sure,” replied his sister, “that this 
Beech, as she calls him—horrible name!—has 
stirred her up to demand to see the paper that my 
poor dear Alexis was so weak and yielding as to 
sign, in order to humor that stubborn Monsieur 
Monteess. I told her I knew where it was no more 
than the cat. By the way, Hyacinthe, you went 
over my husband’s papers, with our lawyer, last 
year; do you know anything about it?” 

Panic seized Nancy. Suppose Count Hyacinthe 
should suggest that they open the cabinet! In¬ 
stead, he replied: 

“My dear Julie, that document is no more.” 

“Brother! You surely don’t mean it has been 
destroyed?” 

“An unfortunate accident, my sister, and your 
nephew is to blame for it. My son, you had better 
confess.” 

“A very sad confession, Aunt; and a late one.” 


NANCY IN AMBUSH 


375 


It was the Bud speaking now. 1 i May it never come 
to the ears of the lovely Anastasie! It might cause 
her to like me less.” 

The portieres shook ever so slightly, hut nobody 
heeded. Without making a sound, Nancy’s lips 
were forming the words: 11 Like you less? Do 
you imagine that I ever liked you at all, you con¬ 
ceited little idiot?” 

The Bud went on confessing. “It was all owing 
to my unpardonable awkwardness! I was stand¬ 
ing at my father’s elbow while he was examining 
that very paper. A lighted candle was on the table. 
And I—I had the misfortune to upset it! The pa¬ 
per caught fire. Nothing left but cinders!” 

“My dear nephew, what inexcusable careless¬ 
ness!” cried his aunt, but there was more amuse¬ 
ment than anger in her voice. “Well, I suppose 
we shall have to forgive you.” 

She sounded over-ready to pardon, but Nancy’s 
lips framed: “You hateful little poodle! You— 
puppy! I do believe you burned it on purpose.” 

“And now, my dear Julie,” she heard the parent 
flower say, “to make you the more ready to forgive 
us, let me tell you the amusing discovery we have 
made about this Deeck Monteess, or Armand de 
Laval. We suspect him of being engaged in a cer¬ 
tain affair that may cause the king to order him 
to quit France immediately.” 

The curtains shook once more; but again nobody 
heeded, and Count Hyacinthe went on: “ Some of 
our warlike young noblemen, intoxicated with the 


376 


WHITE FIRE 


love of liberty, are laying secret plans to go to 
America and join the insurgents in their fight 
against England. The leader of the enterprise is 
the Marquis de Lafayette, and with him are his 
brother-in-law, young Noailles, and his cousin, the 
Comte de Segur.” 

“What insanity!” cried the countess. “To wish 
to throw their lives away for a pack of peasants 
in rebellion!’ ’ 

“Insanity, but the truth,’’ her brother insisted. 
“The young Baron de Montemar and a number of 
others seem to be bitten with the same madness. 
And this Laval or Monteess is evidently in league 
with them!” 

“But how did you discover all this?” asked the 
countess. 

“The more there are to keep a secret the sooner 
it leaks out,” purred her brother. “These young 
plotters are not all of them so discreet as they im¬ 
agine. One of them confided the plan to my son, 
hoping to enlist him in the cause of freedom.” 

“I was bitten by the madness myself, Aunt,” 
simpered the Bud. “I had some thought of draw¬ 
ing my own sword for liberty.” 

Frightened and angry as she was, Nancy had to 
cover her mouth to keep from laughing. The pic¬ 
ture of Pompon, namesake of the poodle, marching 
by the side of Lafayette was too comical. But she 
understood. Liberty was the talk of the day, and 
all the rage among the gilded youth of Paris, and 
Hyacinthe the younger was Fashion’s devoted 


NANCY IN AMBUSH 


377 


slave. He would rejoicingly have worn an Indian 
blanket and feathers if they had been decreed d 
la mode . 

“Do not be alarmed about your nephew, Julie,’’ 
begged the count. “He has taken my advice and 
decided to keep his sword sheathed. But I venture 
to prophesy that these young champions of liberty 
will find their plans the gossip of the court in a 
day or two, by which time I hope to have full proof 
to show his Majesty that this sly dog Laval is an 
arch-conspirator in the case.” 

“What if he is? Will the king care?” asked the 
countess. 

“Kings have no love for revolutions, my sister. 
Besides, if it should become the fashion for our 
young nobles to join the American rebels, England 
will have a good excuse for declaring war against 
us. But there is some one besides the king 
and his ministers who will care, Lafayette’s own 
father-in-law. The Due d’Ayen will be in a pretty 
rage when he finds out. He will be quite angry 
enough to beg his Majesty for a lettre de cachet to 
arrest his fine son-in-law, if need be, and another 
for his friend Laval, to clap him into the Bastille.” 

A lettre de cachet! That cruel form of warrant 
by means of which persons could be seized and 
flung into dungeon cells! The Bastille! That ter¬ 
rible fortress prison! Nancy turned cold with 
fright. 

“My dear Hyacinthe, you are not in earnest!” 
exclaimed her aunt. 


378 


WHITE FIRE 


4 ‘Well, no doubt the duke would be satisfied, and 
so would we to have this young trouble-maker from 
America quit the kingdom and go back to his brother 
rebels, provided he does not carry the marquis 
along with him—or our little Anastasie, either,” 
the count added with a laugh. “And the sooner 
we ’re rid of him the less we shall hear the refrain, 
‘I’m going home to Papa!’ ” 

“You ’ll not hear it at all after Dick goes, be¬ 
cause—I ’ll be gone, too!” the girl in ambush threat¬ 
ened soundlessly. 

“And now,” she heard 'Count Hyacinthe say, 
“will you excuse me for a few minutes? I must 
have a word with my man Vincent, whom I brought 
with me to-day. A clever rogue, Vincent. A very 
clever rogue. And as good as a bloodhound at fol¬ 
lowing a scent. I am putting him on the track of 
our friend Deeck. He is to shadow him and see 
whether the fellow leads the marquis to the house 
of that American commissioner whom the rebels 
have sent over to us to wheedle help out of us. 
If we can catch the two of them there, that is all 
the proof we need.” 

He left the room and, to Nancy’s boundless re¬ 
lief, so did his sister and his son. She locked the 
cabinet and as soon as she dared risk it, stole out 
of her hiding-place and shot up-stairs to her own 
boudoir and Lisette. 

As the countess and her Hyacinths were taking 
their places at table, Rene, the page, appeared, 



NANCY IN AMBUSH 379 

bringing Nancy’s polite excuses. She declined to 
come down to dinner. 

“Of all the airs and caprices!” exclaimed her 
aunt. “I told you Anastasie was in one of her 
moods to-day. Very well, then, let her stay up¬ 
stairs and pout. No doubt she expects to be coaxed 
and implored to come down.” 

The Countess did not discover that a few moments 
later her niece came down without being coaxed, 
but by the servants’ staircase and followed by Li- 
sette. The two slipped out into the garden and 
through a side gate into the street, following in the 
wake of Rene, who, having delivered his message, 
was now hurrying toward a place where there were 
carriages for hire, with orders to engage a fiacre 
to await mademoiselle at a certain point not too 
near home. 

About the time that the two Hyacinths were en¬ 
joying their dessert, Nancy and Lisette, driving 
post-haste, were well on their way to the house of 
the Baron de Montemar. Henri had lately taken 
to himself a bride; but it was not to call upon the 
young baroness nor on the dowager that Nancy 
was speeding so fast. It was to catch that brother 
of hers before the spy Vincent caught him. 

Dick was beginning to achieve a brilliant success 
as a teacher of the English language, with a 
promising class of pupils, of whom Lafayette was 
one and Louis de Noailles another and Louis Phi¬ 
lippe de Segur a third. The class was growing 


380 


WHITE FIRE 


daily ana was destined to number as many young 
French gallants as were bitten by the liberty mad¬ 
ness. Besides giving English lessons, Dick was— 
But why pry any deeper into his affairs? We are 
not spies like Vincent. Enough to know that, at the 
moment when a flushed and excited young lady 
drove up to the Montemars’ door Dick was on the 
point of setting out to call on Mr. Silas Deane, 
whom the Continental Congress had sent over to 
France. His intention was to pave the way for a 
certain young marquis to call on him by and by. 

“Dick! Oh, Dick! Don’t go to see Mr. Deane, 
or they ’ll drive you out of the kingdom, or throw 
you into the Bastille!” Such was the flushed and 
excited young lady’s greeting; and the news with 
which she followed it up caused him to lay aside 
his hat—and his plan, likewise. 

Vincent, the spy, shadowed him in vain. Dick 
did not call on Mr. Silas Deane. 

The secret was out! The king knew, the Due 
d’Ayen knew, Gilbert’s amazed and angry relatives 
knew, that the young Marquis de Lafayette was 
planning to turn crusader and go on a quest be¬ 
yond the sea to draw his sword in the sacred cause 
of freedom. Yet nobody called him a crusader ex¬ 
cept Adrienne and Nancy. Most people called him 
a fool, a madman, or rather a mad boy, and like 
flattering names. A royal mandate went forth 
ordering the nineteen-year-old knight-errant 
and his brother-in-law and his cousin to give up 


NANCY IN AMBUSH 


381 


their chivalrous enterprise and stay at home, like 
obedient sons and good subjects. But Dick was 
neither clapped into the Bastille nor commanded to 
quit France. Thanks to Nancy, nothing could be 
proved against him. He and Gilbert found it 
wiser, however, to be seen together as little as 
possible till the storm should have blown over; and 
when, later on, the marquis did call upon Mr. Silas 
Deane, it was in company with another would-be 
knight-errant, de Kalb, who boasted that he could 
speak English, while Dick was cleverly leading a 
brace of spies a wild-goose chase in a different 
direction . 1 

Meanwhile, young Lafayette, young Noailles, and 
young Segur were being soundly scolded in their 
own homes. But Adrienne did not scold, though her 
heart was near to breaking. 

“It is like the legend that you and Gilbert told 
me about,’’ she said to Nancy. “It is the White 
Fire. My knight has taken up the torch, and he 
cannot be a faithless knight and let the flame go 
out. He would not be my Gilbert if he could do 
that. And perhaps God wills it.” 

“God wills it?” Nancy repeated. 

i Lafayette’s cousin, the Comte de Segur, in his Memoires, writes: 

“Our ardor was too keen to be long discreet. We confided our 
design to some young persons whom we hoped to engage in our 
enterprise. The court learned of it and the ministry . . . formally 
commanded us to renounce our plan. Our parents, who had been 
ignorant of it thus far, took alarm and reproached us angrily for 
our adventurous inconsiderateness. What struck me especially was 
the surprise which the family of Lafayette showed.” 


382 


WHITE FIRE 


“ Yes. Don’t you remember the story of the First 
Crusade 1 ? How everybody cried out, ‘God wills it!’ 
I keep thinking of those words. They keep saying 
themselves over and over in my mind. And what 
do you think f The other night, I had a dream. I 
saw Gilbert standing, all dressed in armor, like a 
knight of old, and his armor was shining white. He 
was holding a lighted torch with a white flame. And 
I dreamed that the wind was blowing—such a fierce, 
cruel wind! And the rain and the hail were driv¬ 
ing ; and I called to him to come in out of the storm. 
But still he stood holding the torch high, and the 
wind and the rain and the hail could not put out the 
White Fire. It blazed brighter and brighter the 
harder they beat down upon him. And I woke and 
found myself saying, ‘God wills it.’ Nancy”— 
Adrienne’s eyes were brave, though her voice quiv¬ 
ered—“if God wills that my Gilbert should go to 
help those brave people across the sea, how wrong, 
how selfish, it would be of me, to try to hold him 
back! Oh, I wish I could stop being selfish!” 

“You — selfish!” Nancy hugged her, laughing at 
the thought, with tears in her eyes. “You darling! 
You are the least selfish person in the whole wide 
world. ’ ’ 

Adrienne shook her head. She had come out vic¬ 
torious from a desperate battle with herself. “I 
must not,” she said, “make the mistake I made 
last year.” 

“What was that, dear!” asked Nancy. 

“Why, after Gilbert came back from Metz, you 


NANCY IN AMBUSH 


383 


know, all on fire to help the Americans, he spoke to 
us one day about going, but not so that we guessed 
he was really bent upon it. And we all cried out, 
‘No!* so hard that he said no more about it. We 
thought he had put it out of his mind. We drove 
him into himself, poor Gilbert! He could not con¬ 
fide even in me after that. But now I must stand 
by him and help him. ,, 

“But the king has forbidden him to go,” said 
Nancy. 

“But if it should really be that God does will it,” 
answered Adrienne, “then even the king cannot hold 
my crusader back. The way will open, and he will 
go.” 


CHAPTER XXI 


WHY NOT? 


DRIENNE ’S crusading knight had chosen a 



motto, an old family motto, like Dick’s, 


and, like his, a Latin one; but it was only two words 
long: “Cur non?” “Why not?” 

“A riddle,” he explained to Nancy. “I leave 
you to solve it.” 

Solve it she did, in this fashion: “Gilbert is 
longing to fight for liberty. They tell him he is 
mad, and the king forbids him. Why should he try 
to go, when everything is against him? That is 
what most people would say; but Gilbert says, ‘Why 
not?’ ” And very soon Nancy was saying, “Why 
not?” with a challenging flash in her eye, to Dick. 

Winter saw another American arrive in France, 
Dr. Benjamin Franklin, and Paris fell in love with 
him, fur cap, brown coat, spectacles, and all. The 
ship that brought the sage of the western world 
brought a letter for Nancy; and the letter brought 
the Montemars another of several visits that she 
had contrived to make them since the coming of 
September and Dick. She arrived attended, as al¬ 
ways, by Lisette; and both looked as much per¬ 
turbed as on the day they had dashed up in a fiacre 
with the news about Count Hyacinthe and his spy. 

Nancy thrust the letter into Dick’s hand. “Papa 


384 


WHY NOT? 


385 


has been hurt. You must take me home to him.” 

The letter was from Colonel Monteith, written 
down at his dictation by his Quaker friend, John 
Fairchild, sitting at the sufferer’s bedside. The 
lame colonel had had a fall. What had caused it, 
or how severe it was, he did not say; but Nancy be¬ 
lieved that it was far worse than he wished her to 
guess. Hick tried to take a more hopeful view. 

“This letter was written a good while ago. See, 
he does n’t even know that I’m safe. By this time, 
he ’s probably well again—or nearly.” 

“No,” Nancy insisted. “I can read between the 
lines. Papa is very badly hurt. He may be crip¬ 
pled for the rest of his life, for all we know! He 
needs me more than he ever did before. Oh, I must 
go to him! I must! If he should die—like my 
uncle—Dick, your arm ’s nearly well again now. 
You said the last time I saw you that you ’d soon 
be going home. You must take me with you when 
you go. It’s no use appealing to the queen. I tried 
it, but she said the king would not hear of my going, 
and she could not spare me, she loves me so. I 
love her, too, oh, so much! But I love my father 
more. And I must go back to him, whether their 
Majesties are willing or no. I ran away to sea 
once, and I must do it again. You must find a way 
to take me home with you, Dick.” 

He looked as if she had commanded him to carry 
her to the moon. “Nancy! You don’t know what 
you ’re asking. It’s impossible. I can’t take you 
home when I go.” 



386 


WHITE FIRE 


‘‘You ’ll have to, because I’m going. Why can’t 
you?” 

“Because, even supposing I could spirit you away 
to the sea-coast, with those rascally spies dogging 
me, you ’re too precious freight to take aboard the 
ship I ’ll be going on.” 

“What ship is that?” 

“I don’t know myself yet. I only know the 
British cruisers will chase her if they get the chance. 
We can’t risk having you captured.” 

“I’m not as precious freight as Dr. Franklin, 
and he was not captured,” Nancy argued. “Any¬ 
way, I’m ready to run the risk—” 

“But 1 ’m not.” 

She tried a bit of taunting: “Where y s your 
White Fire? Don’t be the Knight of the White 
Feather! Dick Monteith, this is the first time I 
ever heard you refuse to do a thing because there 
was a dash of danger in it. ’ ’ 

“When it means danger to you, Nancy, call me 
a coward if you like, but I do not dare it.” 

She saw by the set of his jaw that she was in for 
a desperate battle, with a poor chance of winning. 
Fight she did, with all her girlish weapons—pathetic 
pictures of her father’s need, pleadings, coaxings, 
arguments, gathering tears, rising anger. She 
might as well have tried to move Indian Rock on 
the Narragansett shore. And Lisette, when called 
into the council, sided with Dick. 

“I have said twenty times,” she declared, “that 
I am ready to brave the sea, the English corsairs, 


WHY NOT? 


387 


all dangers, to go myself to take care of monsieur. 
But risk my child’s safety by letting her cross the 
ocean in this terrible war-time? Never! It would 
be the last thing monsieur would wish.” 

“Yes,” Dick agreed, “it would be the last thing 
Father would wish. He knows you ’re safe and 
well here in France.” 

“Oh, yes, safe and well in France!” Scornfully 
Nancy echoed the words. “With hateful Hyacinths 
and a cantankerous aunt, and jealous cats of court 
ladies ready to claw my eyes out because I’m a 
favorite with the queen! While over there, in my 
home land, they ’re fighting for liberty! Oh, I want 
to fight for it, too! Those glorious patriot soldiers, 
I must be where I can cheer them on. Dick, you 
don’t seem to realize that I have some White Fire 
in me.” 

“I know you have. You ’re blazing full of it. 
But, Nancy, you don’t realize what you’d have to 
face over there now. No gold lace and fine uni¬ 
forms for our soldiers! You’d find them ragged 
and barefoot! War times are hard times, and 
growing harder. And everybody has to suffer to¬ 
gether— ” 

“And can’t I suffer, too?” she flashed. “Can’t 1 
stand what the girls of America have to ? ” 

Dick looked at her long and thoughtfully, and 
in a troubled way. Then he answered, “Nan Mon- 
teith could stand it, if she had never left New Eng¬ 
land, but not the court lady, Anastasie de 
Fontaines.” 


388 


WHITE FIRE 


Nancy’s little foot tapped the floor impatiently. 
“Nonsense! Aren’t New England Nan and Anas- 
tasie de Fontaines one and the same?” 

He shook his head. “No. One was my little 
sister, and the other is—just what she looked like 
in the queen’s garden, a sunrise cloud, floating up in 
the sky, where I can’t reach her. My path is down 
here on the earth; yours is up there, where I can’t 
follow you. And I can’t bring you down to earth 
and carry you oft with me, Sunrise Cloud.” 

Next day a sadly ruffled Oriole flew to confide her 
griefs to Adrienne, who was still in the family nest, 
the Lafayettes being considered too young a couple 
to set up housekeeping for themselves. 

“And Dick and I have quarreled.” So she ended 
the sad story. “At least 1 did all the quarreling; 
but he ’ll have to do the making up. And the only 
way to do that is to give in and take me home.” 

She and Dick had parted unhappily enough, 
Nancy warning him, as well as she could for the 
sob in her throat, “If Papa dies, and I never see 
him again because you won’t help me to go back to 
him, I ’ll never be able to forgive you as long as I 
live.” 

Now, with her head on Adrienne’s comforting 
shoulder, she sighed: “Oh dear! I feel so alone 
sometimes! I have n’t even a brother any more. ’ ’ 

“Why, Oriole, dearest, you’ve not lost your 
brother just because you Ve had a one-sided quar¬ 
rel with him.” 


WHY NOT? 


389 


“Yes, I have lost my brother. It ’s not the quar¬ 
rel ; we had plenty of £wo-sided quarrels in the good 
old days. But he ’s different; he ’s been different 
ever since he came back to France. He ’s not the 
Dick I used to know. That Dick wouldn’t have 
talked about sunrise clouds, but he would have 
trusted his little Sister Nan to be brave enough to 
stand a few things. No, I’ve lost my brother, and 
he’s lost his little sister; he owns it. We can’t seem 
to treat each other as we used to, or—or —feel as 
we used to. Mama Lisette says it’s because we’ve 
lived apart so long, and we’ve been growing up 
without each other, and our worlds have been so 
different. I don’t know what it is, but it seems we 
can never be brother and sister again.” 

Nancy’s eyes were deep and troubled as she tried 
to puzzle out the mystery of it all. She did not 
know how hard this new and perplexing Dick was 
wishing that he could carry the Sunrise Cloud back 
with him to the home that needed her so desper¬ 
ately, to make it brighter and more beautiful than 
ever before. But his going was linked with secret 
plans of which he dared give her no hint; and even 
if, without marring them, he could spirit her 
away— 

“I can’t let her risk the danger,” he told him¬ 
self, “unless it’s to save her from worse danger.” 
And Nancy was tantalizingly safe in France. 

The queen’s court jester noticed, when she went 
back to her post of duty at court, that her Majesty 


390 


WHITE FIRE 


kept looking at her in a disturbed way, and the poor 
girl believed that she had given deep offense by 
pleading to be allowed to go home. At last one day 
Marie Antoinette surprised her by saying: 

“Before the Indian prince, your brother, sails 
away from us, he must see my little Jacques, whom 
he rescued for me. I must show him what a little 
Prince Charming the child has become.” 

So the royal command went forth; and Dick had 
to don court raiment a second time and, with La¬ 
fayette beside him, stand before the queen. He 
found the little peasant boy transformed into a 
Prince Charming indeed; for he wore a white frock 
trimmed with lace, and a rose-colored sash with 
silver fringe, and he had learned to make a court 
bow, holding his plumed hat to his heart. 

Marie Antoinette told her two guests that she was 
glad to find the days of chivalry were not yet over, 
and that there were knights-errant still left, ready 
to go to the world's end for the sake of heroic ad¬ 
venture. She told Lafayette she was so sorry that 
the king had had to say “no” to his gallant enter¬ 
prise. But really she must scold the Indian prince, 
for she suspected him of tempting the young nobles 
of her court to desert their queen and fight for my 
Lady Liberty instead! And was not Liberty a lady 
of miraculous power? she asked. A goddess? 
Surely she must be, and marvelously beautiful, 
since so many young knights were so eager to wor¬ 
ship at her shrine and draw their swords for her 
sake. 


WHY NOT? 


391 


“She is indeed!” Gilbert answered. “My Lady 
Liberty is so beautiful that in gazing at her one for¬ 
gets all else in the world. ,, 

“I wish I could see her portrait,” laughed the 
queen. “Describe her to me,” she commanded 
Dick. “What does this radiant goddess look like?” 

And Dick, being a good deal dazzled by the lovely 
vision directly in front of him, answered, “Like 
the queen of France.” 

Then he had a spasm of alarm at his own bold¬ 
ness; but Marie Antoinette told him he was a bet¬ 
ter courtier than the marquis, and now she would 
reward him with a fairy-tale instead of a scold¬ 
ing. Nancy and a young countess were in attend¬ 
ance. She bade them amuse Jacques for her, and 
when they were out of hearing she told her story: 

“There was once a very kind king who made a 
special friend and adviser of one of his courtiers, a 
count. This count had a little niece, whom the 
fairies had brought from a far-away land, to live 
with him for a while, but not forever, the little 
maid declared, for some time she would go back 
to that far-away land which was her home. For she 
said there was no other place in the whole wide 
world where one could be so happy. The air was 
sweeter and purer there, and the sun shone brighter 
there, and life was free and joyous. There were 
no kings and queens in that land across the sea 
—nor princes, except Indian princes; but there were 
happy homes there, full, not of jewels and splendor, 
but of love and trust. 


392 


WHITE FIEE 


“But the little maiden’s uncle loved his niece and 
wished her to he rich, and a great lady, and some 
day to be called *countess.’ So he planned that in 
due time she should be married to a young noble¬ 
man of the king’s court, who would be a count some 
day. But he did not tell the little maid. 

“By and by her uncle fell ill and knew that he 
had not long to live; so he asked the kind king to 
further his plan when he himself should be gone. 
And the king promised. And can a king break his 
word? Oh, no! But one day a fairy came flying 
in through the palace window and whispered a warn¬ 
ing in the king’s ear. The fairy whispered to him 
that the little maiden’s heart was still in her own 
home in that far-away land, and if she were to be¬ 
come a countess she would only droop and pine, 
like a wild bird in a golden cage. And the wise 
fairy told him that the young nobleman who was to 
win her hand was turning out a vain young fop, very 
extravagant and selfish, who cared for nothing but 
his own pleasure and was quite unfit to make the 
little maid happy as his wife. Then the kind king 
was very sorry, and he said he wished the fairies 
who had brought the little maid into his kingdom 
would fly away with her, back to her own land that 
she loved. But he could do nothing about it him¬ 
self, because he had made that promise; and a king 
cannot break his word. 

“Now, there came to that realm, seeking adven¬ 
ture, a brave knight-errant from the little maid’s 
own land; and on his shield he bore a mystic em- 


WHY NOT? 


393 


blem, a torch that burned with a white flame. And 
the wise fairy who had whispered the warning in 
the king’s ear whispered in the ear of the knight. 
She told him that the little maid was in peril, and 
he must rescue her. For, now that her uncle was 
dead, the young nobleman and his father were de¬ 
termined to hold the king to his promise; and the 
king could not break his word. And, if the little 
maid rebelled, they would make her life miserable 
till she yielded; and to yield would be to find her¬ 
self still more unhappy. 

“So the knight carried the little maid away 
secretly across the sea, in an enchanted ship, back 
to the far-away land, where the air was sweeter and 
purer, and the sun shone brighter, and life was free 
and joyous, and there were neither kings nor counts 
nor golden cages, but plenty of brave, true hearts, 
and homes full of love and trust. 

“There, my friends, that is the story,” said Marie 
Antoinette, “and it is told to you in secret. Will 
the Indian prince promise me not to tell it even to 
a little maid he knows, unless, some day, he and 
she should find themselves on their way back to 
their own far-away land?” 

The face of the “Indian prince” had changed as 
he listened to that little story. He felt the fierce 
anger of his wild forefathers stirring within him, 
a terrible thing when awakened. Forgetting to an¬ 
swer the queen’s question, he burst out with another: 
“Your Majesty, who is that young nobleman?” 

‘ ‘ Oh, that I must not tell you, ’ ’ she replied. 44 His 


394 


WHITE FIRE 


name is a secret. But we might give him a nick¬ 
name. Let us call him—‘Pompon’!” 

Before he left the Trianon, Hick found a chance 
to say to Nancy in a low voice, but in a tone and 
with a look that startled her, “Do you still wish to 
go home?” 

‘‘ Oh, Dick, you know I do! ” 

“Well, then, you shall. And the sooner we ’re 
off the better! Don’t ask me what I mean. I’ve 
found out something that makes it best, no matter 
what the risk!” 

Then he warned her, in the words of Dr. Frank¬ 
lin, that “a small leak will sink a great ship,” and 
so she must let no one suspect her plan to steal 
away, except Lisette, who would be her companion 
in flight. Faithful to the wishes of the queen, he did 
not tell his little maid what the “something” was 
that he had found out; but, being a very wise little 
maid, it is more than probable that, as she thought 
upon it, she guessed. Be that as it may, in the days 
that followed, a good many notes slipped into the 
palace and answering ones slipped out, for the Mar¬ 
quis de Lafayette and that guardian angel Lisette 
Robin acted as go-betweens. One of these messages 
said: 

You tell me I must find a way to meet you in Bordeaux, 
when that mysterious ship of yours is ready. Now, In¬ 
dian Prince, see what a clever little conspirator the 
Queen’s Court Jester can be. You remember I told you 
about the convent where my dowry money is to go, if I 


WHY NOT? 


395 


am so naughty as to prefer home and Papa to marrying 
in France. Well, the convent is in Bordeaux! Now for 
my plan: I have a cold. I shall make it worse. Then I 
shall tell her Majesty and my aunt that I am ill and tired 
and nervous, and need a long rest and a change of air. 
That will be true. I really am tired and nervous. I’ve 
been so troubled about Papa. 

I shall beg my aunt to send me to the convent in 
Bordeaux. And when I am there, Mama Lisette and I 
will find a way to slip out of it, and join you. And then, 
All aboard for My Country, The United States! 

Nancy carried out her clever little plan so well 
that she nearly wrecked the whole enterprise. By 
leaning out of the window in the middle of a frosty 
night, she brought herself to the brink of pneumonia. 
Even this ill wind blew her one piece of good luck. 
Her aunt, genuinely frightened and distressed, 
yielded the more readily to her whim and promised 
to send her to the family convent in Bordeaux as 
soon as she should be well enough to endure the 
journey. 

And, now that she was in a fair way to reach her 
goal, her childhood’s home on the New England 
shore, it tore Nancy’s heart to think of parting from 
that beloved trio, the Duchesse d’Ayen and Louise 
and Adrienne. They devoted themselves to their 
poor little Oriole with the drooping wings. Their 
friendship had never seemed so precious as now, 
when she was going to lose them. Yet she had to 
hide her secret from them, and she felt miserably 
guilty when she looked into their loving eyes. 


396 


WHITE FIRE 


Would she ever see them again? Would she ever 
see her queen again? Never could she forget that 
parting in the palace. Had she betrayed herself 
by the tears that would fall, when Marie Antoinette 
kissed her tenderly, with dewdrops shining in her 
own eyes, though not a word was uttered that could 
hint that her little American was going away for 
more than a brief rest from court duty? One day, 
as Nancy lay feverish and forlorn, a royal messenger 
arrived, bringing a gift from the queen, a diamond 
cross! As the girl gazed at it and pressed her lips 
to its pure radiance, the tears gathered again, and 
fell, and glittered among the tear-like gems. 

But what of the two knights-errant ? The 
Marquis de Lafayette did a strange thing for a 
crusader sworn to the cause of liberty. He went 
to England with his uncle, the French ambassador, 
to visit the very people whom he had been thirsting 
to fight! Proof, said his relatives, that he had given 
up his mad plan to aid the Americans in what now 
seemed their death-struggle to make good the in¬ 
dependence they had proclaimed. Their dutiful and 
submissive Gilbert had not made public the fact that 
he had signed an agreement in which Mr. Silas 
Deane had granted him, in the name of Congress, 
the rank of major-general in the army of the new¬ 
born United States! 

So Lafayette was in England, and the report had 
spread that Armand de Laval had left France. In 
fact, he had been seen departing in the direction of 
Calais. Quite true. Dick had set out on that road; 


WHY NOT? 


397 


but presently he had changed his route, and he was 
now in Bordeaux, with Lieutenant Dubois-Martin, 
nicknamed “Little Dubois,” to whom the marquis 
had given money and orders to buy a vessel that 
should carry the nineteen-year-old major-general 
and a band of young French officers, burning with 
White Fire, to America, land of their warlike 
dreams. When the skies looked blackest for the 
patriots across the ocean, when even Silas Deane 
had warned him to give up his plans and not throw 
himself away in what might turn out a lost cause, 
Gilbert had answered: 

“Till now, sir, you have seen only my ardor; I 
may now be really useful. I am going to buy a ship 
to carry your officers out. We must show confidence; 
and it is in time of danger that I love to share your 
fortunes.” 

Whatever the faults of the vessel that Little Du¬ 
bois trustingly bought for the marquis, she had a 
hopeful name, La Victoire. “The Victory /” 
Might it prove prophetic! She carried two guns; 
and it was intended that she should also carry Dick 
and Nancy and Lisette, as well as Lafayette and 
his adventurous band. 

Dick’s own preparations for smuggling the run¬ 
away damsel and her motherly attendant out of 
the convent and aboard ship would require a chap¬ 
ter for the telling. Enough to say that he had a 
well stocked purse to aid his success. He vowed 
that some day, if he had to slave for it, he would 
pay back to Gilbert the money so lavishly lent him; 


398 


WHITE FIRE 


but it seemed like robbing Nancy when he sold 
the little bagful of jewels that she had sent him 
secretly with the request: 

Take these and sell them for me. Money, not gems, 
are what we need now; and what you do not spend in 
taking me away, I shall give to help our soldiers. I should 
blush for shame, wearing rubies and diamonds, when New 
England girls are wearing homespun. 

The weeks went by; but the girl around whom all 
his fine schemes centered failed to appear! In¬ 
stead, one day in March, a post-chaise arrived from 
Paris bringing, in place of Nancy and Lisette, the 
marquis and his fellow-adventurer, de Kalb, both 
of them in a fever of impatience to be aboard the 
Victoire. 

‘‘What ’s the news from England V 9 asked Dick; 
and Gilbert laughed like a school-boy who had played 
a successful joke on his teachers. 

“My friend, you should have seen me paying my 
respects to King George, and dancing at the home of 
Lord Germaine, the arch-enemy of the Americans! 
But I spoke my mind. I stood up for liberty and 
the United States. It was not yet time to draw my 
sword, so I fought for them with my tongue; and it 
won me an invitation to breakfast with Lord 
Shelburne. Your Americans have some good 
friends over in England. He is one of them. He 
told me how, when the news came that your brave 
General Montgomery had fallen at Quebec, they 
made speeches in his praise in Parliament itself. 


WHY NOT? 


399 


And lie gave me this.” Gilbert brought out from 
his wallet a sheet cut from an old newspaper. “I 
improved my English by reading the journals there. 
Ha, ha! The favorite ones are those that make 
war on King George and his cabinet. How they 
rage at him, and how the people devour them! 
Read that, my friend. It is about your commander- 
in-chief, General Washington.” 

Dick grinned as he read what a London newspaper 
had printed: 

General Washington has so much martial dignity in 
his deportment that you would distinguish him to be a 
General and a Soldier among ten thousand people. There 
is not a king in Europe but would look like a valet-de- 
chambre by his side . 1 

“A compliment to King Louis, that!” chuckled 
Lafayette. “I am England’s sworn enemy, like you 
—none hotter. But, my faith! I believe those 
Britons have honest hearts. Why, one of them, a 
friend of that fire-tongued young orator, Charles 
Fox, told me that your cause is really theirs; for 
you are fighting for what they have fought for all 
through their history: more liberty, more justice, 
fair play. He said it would be a sorry day for 
England if you lost your fight for freedom. 

“But all the while I was in London I was burning 
to be here” Gilbert went on. “So, at last, leaving 
my uncle to make my excuses (the dear old gentle- 

i The above quotation is from a London journal, dated January, 
1776. 


400 


WHITE FIRE 


man suspected nothing), I came back to France. 
I hid myself at de Kalb’s house. I dared not go 
home. I dared not even say ‘adieu’ to Adrienne. 
Then, three days ago, we set off in the evening, by 
post-chaise; and here we are! Now, what about our 
Sister Nancy 1 ?” 

Yes, what about Nancy? Here was the Victoire; 
here was Lafayette; here was the band of young of¬ 
ficers gathering at Bordeaux, impatient to set sail. 
But where was mademoiselle? Gilbert the chival¬ 
rous protested against sailing without her; but de¬ 
lay was dangerous, and, to make matters worse, 
there was the letter that conscience had compelled 
him to write to his father-in-law, proclaiming him¬ 
self a general in the American army, and announc¬ 
ing: 

I shall embark in a vessel that I have myself purchased 
and chartered. 

The runaway had not sent it till he was well on 
the road to Bordeaux; but Dick growled: 6 ‘ Plague 

on his honesty! We ’ll have the king’s officers hot 
on our trail!” 

Next morning, dressed like one of those fast-rid¬ 
ing couriers who carried despatches in those days 
before anybody dreamed of telegraph-wires, Dick 
was galloping back to Paris. He rode like a hurri¬ 
cane. To Paris! To Paris! To find out what mis¬ 
chance was holding Nancy back. Every hour, every 
minute, was precious. He chafed at the delay each 
time he had to stop to change horses. 


WHY NOT? 


401 


At one of these halting-places, about half-way, 
he fell in with another courier, a real one, and well 
known to him, for the man was in the confidence of 
Lafayette. With a warning sign, Dick took him 
aside. “Any news from Paris?” 

“Yes, yes, monsieur. A message for monsieur.” 

The despatch-bearer gave him a letter. It was 
written in a girlish hand, tremulous and slanting 
wildly up-hill, as if its author had penned it in the 
midst of excitement and distress; but it was not 
from Nancy. The writer was Adrienne. Poor 
Adrienne! The truth had just been broken to her 
that her knight had set forth on the path of honor 
and of danger. He had gone without a farewell. 
But she was not one of those whom grief makes 
forgetful of others in distress; and so, when Rene, 
the page, Nancy’s devoted slave, had rushed to her 
with a piece of startling news about mademoiselle, 
she had done her best to help her dearest friend. 
Dick had a right to know what had befallen Nancy; 
perhaps he might even devise a way of saving her 
from her plight. Guessing him to be with Gilbert 
in Bordeaux, she had written the letter, praying 
Heaven that the courier might find him. 

Her message sent Dick galloping back to Bor¬ 
deaux. He saw the whole fabric of his carefully 
built plans crashing down in ruins. Yet one thing 
was clear to him. Lafayette’s enterprise must not 
be wrecked, like his own hopes. The Victoire must 
put to sea without waiting for Nancy or for him. 


CHAPTER XXII 


THE CAT, THE MOUSE, AND THE WOLF 

L AFAYETTE had gone to visit his vessel for 
the tenth time at least, when the despairing 
horseman rode into Bordeaux. Dick sought him on 
the long, muddy quay, but the marquis was being 
rowed down the river to where the Victoire lay at 
anchor. As he halted on the quay to wait for his 
friend, Dick noticed a ring of sailors and longshore¬ 
men gathered around a Jack Tar who towered head 
and shoulders above them. He had a broad, ruddy- 
brown face, and broad, ruddy-brown fists, doubled 
up, showing a warlike set of knuckles; and his 
voice rang out in belligerent tones: 

“If ye jabberin’ frog-aters are afther crittisoizin , 
me foin Frinch accint, mebbe ye ’ll loike better the 
feel o’ me fists! Coom on, then! Coom on! Sure, 
Oi ’ll be plaized to bate the whole lot o ’ ye! ’ ’ 

Dick felt as though he had been transported to 
the beach at Narragansett. Time seemed to have 
flown back five years. 

“Hallo, there, you fellow V 9 he shouted in Eng¬ 
lish; and the man, thus hailed, turned upon him a 
pair of blue eyes as frank as a child’s. 

“Is it me native spache Oi hear!” he cried, and 
in two strides he was out of the ring. 

402 


THE CAT, MOUSE, AND WOLF 403 

Leaning from his horse, Dick held out his hand. 
“Can this be my old friend Mike O’Connor?” 

‘ ‘ Misther Montathe! ’ ’ The sailor gripped the 
outstretched hand. “’Tis yersilf, sorr, sure as 
Oi ’m me mother’s son. An’ do ye remimber me 
afther all these years?” 

“I could never forget Mike o’ the Gaspee.” 

“Mike o’ the Gaspee no longer, sorr. ’T is 
Mike o’ the Liberty Bell! An’, sure, Oi ’d know 
yer honor anywhere, though ’t is a bit owlder ye’ve 
grown! Oi’d ricognoize ye wid’ me eyes shut! 
Here’s a letter for ye, sorr.” Mike fumbled in his 
pocket and brought out a missive decidedly tarry by 
this time. “The Cap’n said Oi was to give it to 
some currier man, to take to ye in Paree. Sure an’ 
Oi was afther explainin’ the fact to thim parrly- 
vooin’ frog-aters, whin up ye come yersilf, sorr, to 
save me from breakin’ their fool heads.” 

“Who’s your captain?” asked Dick. “And how 
does he come to know me?” 

“Cap’n Terryberry, sorr. Whin the war broke 
out, he took to proivateerin’, as ye ’ll be afther 
knowin’ yersilf, sorr.” 

“What? Old Terryberry over here?” 

“In Spain, sorr, in a port wid a haythen name to 
it. Loss — Poss —” 

“Los Pasajes?” Dick suggested. 

“The same, sorr. The Liberty Bell is waitin’ for 
ye there.” 

“Waiting for me?” 

“To fetch ye home, sorr. Sure that was the 


404 


WHITE FIRE 


wurrud ye sint over by the ship that picked ye up, 
whin ye wuz a prisoner. Ye towld us to fetch ye 
back to Americky, sorr.” 

Then Dick remembered how he had given the 
skipper of the Defiance a joking message for Cap¬ 
tain Terryberry, should the two chance to meet. 
They had met, as the Monteiths’ old friend, now 
master of the Liberty Bell, was leaving an Atlantic 
port, so said the letter, addressed to the care 
of “Ye Very Honorable Mamzell H ancle de Fonn- 
tains;” and, as it further explained, Captain 
Terryberry, who had come across the ocean on a 
highly successful privateering cruise, was now in¬ 
viting the young soldier stranded in France to re¬ 
turn with him aboard his new ship. Cheered by 
what he read, Dick turned to Mike with a chuckle. 

4 ‘Well, my hearty, so you Ye a deserter from the 
king’s navy, eh!” 

The Irishman grinned. “Faith, but Oi had me 
fill of it, sorr. They put me in irons twice, for 
nuthin’ worth mentionin’. So one foin day Oi made 
up me moind to lave the king’s navy an’ hunt me 
fortune in the colonies. An’ whin the war started, 
says Oi to mesilf, ‘There’s dacent men on both sides, 
an’ ayther’s good enough for me, so long as Oi’m in 
for a fight.’ So Oi shipped aboard the Liberty Bell, 
an’ good luck has follered her ivver since! 

“An’ though,” continued Mike, “ ’T was bad luck 
to have the Frinchies close their ports to us, for no 
rayson at all but to plaize King Jarge, ’t was good 
luck to foind a frog-ater’s coastin’-sloop at Loss- 


THE CAT, MOUSE, AND WOLF 405 

Poss. Me cap’n give me lave to go aboard her for 
a bit of a holiday v’ige, an’ to sind his letters on to 
gay Paree. Here’s one for me little lady, too. An’ 
how is hersilf, sorr? Bless the angel face of her! 
The last toime we met, ’t was on the dock at New¬ 
port. That gallows-burrud, Winch, was grapplin’ 
on to me, an’ pale me little lady turned at sight of 
him! He was plottin’ to betray ye to the British 
admiral, sorr.” 

“But you upset his plans, eh, Mike?” 

“Faith, sorr, we had a little arrgument, an’ Oi 
fetched him one in the jaw wid me fist. ‘If ye want 
to have yer head stove in,’ says Oi, ‘go tell the 
admiral,’ says Oi. An’ Oi left him on the ground, 
spacheless.” 

“Then ’twas you spoiled his beauty for him?” 
said Dick, recalling Oliver’s scarred face. 

“Sure,” Mike owned; “Oi left him somethin’ to 
remimber me by.” 

Dick laid his hand on the sailor’s broad shoulder. 
“Mike,” he said, “I believe you ’re a heaven-sent 
blessing, though you don’t look it!” Then he un¬ 
burdened his troubled heart to this brown and bel¬ 
ligerent blessing. 

Meanwhile, what was befalling Nancy? At last 
the doctor had pronounced the impatient girl, fret¬ 
ting to be off, strong enough for the journey; so she 
started in a great traveling-coach drawn by four 
horses and attended by outriders, well armed, 
to act as body-guard. Inside was a body-guard of 


406 


WHITE FIRE 


another sort, Madame Grimaldi—Madame Grim, or 
Grimalkin, as Nancy dubbed her, the latter title hav¬ 
ing been the name of the cat in the Monteith kitchen; 
for the greenish glint of the lady’s eyes reminded 
her of that watchful mouser. The countess had in¬ 
sisted that Lisette was not a sufficient chaperon. 
A lady duenna was needed; and Brother Hyacinthe, 
who, like the Bud, had overwhelmed Nancy with 
flowers during her illness and convalescence, had 
himself picked out and warmly recommended this 
admirable dame. The fact that she was his choice 
was enough to make Nancy abhor the thin-lipped, 
hawk-nosed lady; but there was no getting rid of 
her, though her presence would put a stupendous 
barrier in the way of escape from the convent at 
Bordeaux. 

They were to travel by slow and easy stages; 
those were the doctor’s orders; and though they 
could sleep in that luxurious coach if need be, each 
day of journeying was to be followed by one or 
more of rest at some nunnery, whenever a nunnery 
could be found. It seemed to Nancy that she would 
go mad but for Dick’s promise not to leave France 
without her, and that, at this snail’s rate of prog¬ 
ress, she would never reach Bordeaux and that mys¬ 
terious ship on which she was to take flight. 

The journey began, and the journey continued— 
jolt, jostle, jounce; jounce, jolt, jostle. Were ever 
roads so abominably rough? Were ever days so 
long, so wearisome, and passed in more unwelcome 
company than that of Madame Grimaldi, Grimalkin, 


THE CAT, MOUSE, AND WOLF 407 

or Grim? And those rests at the convents, they 
v/ere like enforced rests in prison. Gladly would 
Nancy have made friends with the nuns’ bright¬ 
eyed pupils, or the girlish novices, but she had no 
chance. All her meals were served in her room; 
and if she strolled in the convent garden, if she 
explored a corridor, or took a step beyond the solemn 
vaulted guest-chamber assigned to her, Grimalkin 
was at her side, like a cat ready to nab a mouse, and 
wearing an expression calculated to keep the most 
daring and sociable pupil at bay. Madame Grimaldi 
kept Lisette under the watchful green eye as care¬ 
fully as she kept Nancy. Both of them felt like 
prisoners, and both were utterly helpless. 

Then came the day when the mouse foiled the 
cat. They were halting at their third convent, and 
the lady abbess herself had come to Nancy’s room 
to see how the young guest was faring. When she 
left, Madame Grimaldi followed her for an added 
word in private. Peeping out, Nancy saw that they 
had walked on together a few paces down the cor¬ 
ridor and that a young novice was approaching her 
door from the opposite direction. The captive 
maiden beckoned to the little figure in the gray 
robe, at the same time putting a warning finger 
on her lips. The novice came into her room to see 
what she wished, and Nancy met her with the ques¬ 
tion that had never yet been satisfactorily answered: 

“How near are we to Bordeaux?” 

“Bordeaux? Why, mademoiselle, Bordeaux is 
near the sea-coast.” 


408 


WHITE FIRE 


“Well, are we not near the sea-coast V 9 
The girl stared in amazement at her questioner. 
“No, mademoiselle. You would have to cross half 
France to reach the sea.” 

“But—but—” stammered poor bewildered Nancy. 
“I’m going to Bordeaux, to a convent there. Am 
I not on the road to Bordeaux?” 

“No, mademoiselle. You are on the road to Cler¬ 
mont-Ferrand in Auvergne.” 

Auvergne! In the shock the blood surged so 
violently to Nancy’s head that she swayed dizzily 
for a moment. Auvergne ! The mountainous home 
of the Lafayettes and Lavals! Wild Auvergne, 
where Dick had encountered the Gray Wolf! She 
felt as if in the grip of a hideous nightmare. So 
did Lisette, who, between a gasp and a shriek, 
echoed: “Clermont-Ferrand! Auvergne! ’ ’ 

Madame Grimaldi came back. The novice fled, 
leaving her to face two accusers with blazing eyes. 
Nancy was white with passion. Lisette, clasping 
her deceived darling in her arms, challenged the 
duenna, “Madame, where are you taking my child?” 

Nancy felt like a Fury and behaved like one; but 
all three of the Furies seemed to possess the small 
person of Lisette. Any other chaperon would have 
quailed before their united wrath, but Madame 
Grimaldi was a match for them both. She never 
once lost her calm; but she made it clear that made¬ 
moiselle would gain nothing and learn nothing by 
making a scene, nor her woman by impertinence. 
Lisette closed her teeth with a vicious snap. Nancy 


THE CAT, MOUSE, AND WOLF 409 

drew blood from her lip, biting it to keep herself 
quiet. Then Madame Grimaldi enlightened them. 

Mademoiselle desired to go to a convent. Very 
well, she was going to one; but it was to be a con¬ 
vent in Clermont-Ferrand instead of in Bordeaux. 
Mademoiselle’s aunt had decided to take the advice 
of her brother, the Comte de Valence, who had ur¬ 
gently recommended the climate of Auvergne as bet¬ 
ter for her niece’s health. 

“Then why did my aunt lie to me, and pretend 
she was sending me to Bordeaux!” raged Nancy. 

“Madame did not lie to you,” was the unruffled 
answer. “She fully intended to send you to Bor¬ 
deaux till the very last, when the count caused her 
to change her mind.” 

“Then why, when she changed it, did she not tell 
me so!” 

Madame Grimaldi shrugged her shoulders. 
“Why should she tell you beforehand! Since you 
excite yourself so easily—” 

Nancy stamped her foot. “Did she think it 
would excite me any less to hear it from you? Why 
don’t you tell me the truth, that I’ve been deceived, 
tricked, trapped! That I’m a prisoner and you ’re 
my jailer! That I’m being packed off to a convent 
in Auvergne, so my friends won’t know where to 
find me—” She checked herself. She had nearly 
cried out, “So Dick won’t find me.” She knew 
that somehow, perhaps through the spy Vincent, 
Count Hyacinthe had divined the truth, or come 
near it. 



410 


WHITE FIRE 


“I ’ll tell the abbess here!” she threatened. 
“I ’ll tell all the nuns—everybody—how I ’ve been 
tricked—” 

“The abbess understands the situation per¬ 
fectly,” almost purred Grimalkin. And no doubt 
the abbess did understand exactly what the duenna 
meant her to, that a wilful madcap girl was being 
conducted to the very best place for her soul’s good. 

“I will not travel one step farther on this road,” 
vowed Nancy. “I ’ll go right straight back to 
Paris.” 

“Yes, we will go back to Paris,” declared Lisette. 
“I will not have my child carried away against her 
will. N ever! Never! ” 

“Mademoiselle, you will do exactly as your aunt 
directs,” said Madame Grimaldi, “or”—she darted 
a feline glance at Lisette— “this woman will be 
dismissed.” 

“As long as I live, I will never leave my child. 
You cannot take me from her unless you kill me; 
and I think, madame, you will not quite dare to do 
that!” cried Lisette, ready to fight like a tigress 
against separation from her beloved nursling; and 
Nancy, with arms around her, flamed forth: 

“You can never take her from me! If you dare 
try, you ’ll be sorry for it all your life! The queen 
is going to hear about all this. She shall know how 
I’m being persecuted.” 

“At present, mademoiselle,” replied her jailer, 
“you will find it hardly possible to communicate 
with the queen.” 



THE CAT, MOUSE, AND WOLF 411 

That was all too true, yet for a fortnight Nancy 
held out stubbornly. Anger, excitement, and nerv¬ 
ous exhaustion threw the high-strung girl, hut 
lately recovered from illness, into a fever; but 
she would not yield. Instead, Madame Grimaldi, 
knowing that she would he held responsible for her 
prisoner’s health, took the advice of the kindly 
abbess, who argued that to torment “the poor 
child” would only make her the more obstinate and 
perhaps seriously ill, and that she had best be al¬ 
lowed to remain where she was till, for very 
weariness of her surroundings, she consented to go 
forward. But the days multiplied, and Nancy still 
resisted, till one morning no Lisette came in to help 
her dress, and Madame Grimaldi announced: 

“Your maid is locked up in her own room. You 
will not see her again unless you give in at once and 
continue your journey to-day. If you persist in 
refusing, Lisette will be removed from this place 
by force, and sent away this very morning—back 
to Paris. Come! Be sensible. What is the good 
of staying here forever, sulking? Will it bring you 
any nearer Bordeaux? Do you think we don’t 
know why you wish to go there? Mademoiselle, 
you may as well hear the truth. You may have to 
be guarded night and day; but you will never be al¬ 
lowed to fly back to that land of peasants, America. 
Never, mademoiselle! Never!” 

And so, to escape being torn from her one source 
of comfort in her wretchedness, the woman who had 
mothered her devotedly all her life, Nancy surren- 


412 


WHITE FIRE 


dered. That same morning found her journeying 
on toward Clermont-Ferrand, her destined prison. 

The nightmare journey was nearly over. They 
were passing through the little dead village. That 
was what Nancy named it. She had seen dying 
villages, as she traveled through famine-swept 
Auvergne, hut this was the first dead one; and she 
pitied it and wondered if it had suffered very much 
before it died. All up and down the street—and 
the wee town had only one street—the pathetic lit¬ 
tle houses were stone-dead. No voice, no breath of 
life came through their mouths, their doors, though 
some of these were gaping wide. Their unglazed 
windows were blind eyes, ghoulish in their fixed 
stare. Poor little village whose soul had departed! 
What had killed it? Starvation? Pestilence? Or 
had its people simply deserted it and wandered 
away when famine came, seeking in some far-off 
valley the means of life that had failed them here? 

At the farther end of the street—or, rather, the 
rutty slough—the coach stopped between two houses 
crumbling into decay. The way was blocked by a 
heap of stones and lumber, black rotting logs and 
skeleton arms of dead trees, a ghastly rubbish heap! 
The carriage could not go forward till the road was 
cleared. So coachman and footman descended into 
the mud, while the young postilion, mounted on the 
near horse of the leaders, stayed in his saddle to 
keep the four bays quiet. The outriders descended, 
too, and, tying their steeds to the coach-wheels, 


THE CAT, MOUSE, AND WOLF 413 

joined in the work of removing the obstruction. 
Nancy was glad of anything that could delay the 
hateful progress to her prison and allow her a little 
more time to sympathize with the dead village that 
looked as sad as her heart felt. 

Suddenly the dead town came alive! The men 
busy over the rubbish pile, bending to their work, 
did not see it awaken. The postilion saw and 
shouted the alarm. The watchers in the coach saw 
and screamed—too late! A living whirlwind swept 
into view from behind the crumbling houses, and 
hurled itself upon the figures in the road. Wild 
men! Wolf men! Their leader, a savage on horse¬ 
back—or was it that legendary horror, the Wild 
Huntsman himself? 

Outriders, coachman, and footman, taken sud¬ 
denly off their guard, went down under the as¬ 
sault of the human wolves. Horses plunged. 
Those of the outriders broke loose, and, mad with 
terror, thundered away. The coach rocked and 
swayed and then crashed against the wall of a 
house, as the four bays reared and swerved and 
backed and reared again. The postilion was fight¬ 
ing desperately to control them before the carriage 
should be overturned; and the wild man on horse¬ 
back, he who had headed the assault, came to his 
aid, gripping the bridles of the leaders, and forcing 
them to submit. 

When the coach crashed into the wall, the shock 
had thrown its three occupants in a heap on the 
floor. Nancy and Lisette were now locked in each 


414 


WHITE FIRE 


other’s arms, clinging together as if death alone 
could part them. Lisette was praying aloud; but 
the only words that came to Nancy’s lips were: 
“The Gray Wolf! The Gray Wolf!” She knew 
it must be the mountain terror and his band. Vi¬ 
sions of the shaggy wild men had disturbed her all 
day long, as she felt that she must be nearing their 
haunts. But while Lisette strained her darling 
closer, the courage of her race awoke in Anastasie 
de Fontaines. 

“We must be brave!” she told the trembling 
woman. “Dick was brave, and the Gray Wolf let 
him go free. He may let us go, too, if we show 
we ’re not afraid. I ’ll tell him I’m Dick’s sister.” 

But when the coach had ceased its shaking, when 
the door was wrenched open and a shaggy monster 
—surely the Gray Wolf himself—thrust in his head 
and shoulders and seized her, she had neither time 
nor presence of mind to show anything but dumb 
determination to clutch Lisette and never let go her 
hold. Her strength was not equal to her will. It 
yielded to the terrible grip of those iron arms. They 
snatched her from the weaker ones that would have 
held and defended her; they dragged her from the 
coach and carried her to where another wolf man 
stood, holding a riderless horse. The iron arms 
lifted her up to the saddle; and—had strength and 
will and courage all failed her? She no longer re¬ 
sisted. 


CHAPTER XXHI 


THE PRIZE 

S HE had not fainted; but her captor was an ob¬ 
ject terrible enough to have thrown any lady 
in France into a swoon. Two shaggy wolf-skins 
formed his cloak, their paws dangling. A third pelt 
served him as a barbaric head-dress. It hung like 
a hood so far over his face as almost to hide it, so 
that when he pounced upon her Nancy had gained 
the horrifying impression that he had the head of 
a wolf instead of a man. A tierce growl, a vicious 
snarl would have seemed his fitting answer to her 
gasping cry, as he snatched her from the coach; 
but as he held her fast and turned with her toward 
the waiting horse, the wolf man brought his face 
closer to hers—she could see his dark, gleaming 
eyes—and spoke with a human voice. 

“Don’t say a word. But don’t be afraid. It’s 
I—Dick.” 

“Dick! Oh, Dick! You!” It was a cry and a 
gasp and a sob all in one, and the girlish arms that 
had been fighting him vainly but furiously flung 
themselves around his neck. 

“Hush!” he warned her. “Don’t call my name. 
Don’t let your men see you ’re glad. Scream, the 
louder the better. And struggle; but not too hard. 

415 


416 


WHITE FIRE 


We’ve not a second to lose. We must be quick as 
lightning. I must put you on the horse.’’ 

Nancy obeyed. She would rather have hugged 
him again, but she struck him instead, and she 
struggled, just hard enough, allowing herself to 
yield, as if from sheer faintness and despair, when 
he lifted her to the saddle. She saw her coachman, 
her footman, and her outriders standing un¬ 
wounded, but bound and disarmed and guarded by 
wolf men. She was surprised to see how few 
brigands there really were, for in her terror she had 
imagined the assailants of the coach to be a mighty 
horde; yet, Dick included, they numbered only ten. 
Two of them were keeping the horses subdued; and 
the postilion’s anguished gaze told her that he 
would do battle for her if he could; but they had 
dragged him from his saddle, and he, too, was bound 
and helpless. Fearful screams were splitting the 
air. She looked back. Lisette, shrieking and 
fighting, was being borne along in the arms of a 
creature as shaggy and wolf-like as Dick. Nancy 
dared not call out to her to submit, nor was there 
time. Skirting the barricade of stones and timber, 
Dick led the horse to the rear of the house into 
which the coach had crashed. She found several 
more horses waiting, tied, in what had once been 
a tiny farm-yard, and under the care of a ragged 
peasant boy. 

“I thought you were the Gray Wolf!” panted the 
rescued girl, now that she could safely speak. 

Dick laughed. “I’m only the Gray Wolf’s cou- 


THE PRIZE 


417 


sin. But he’s here. I ’ll present him to you, as 
soon as we’ve plundered your coach.” 

Before he could say more, the shaggy wild man 
who had seized Lisette came staggering around the 
corner of the house, the captive in his arms still 
keeping up the fight. 

“Aisy, aisy, now, Mother!” this brigand expos¬ 
tulated. “Quit clawin’ me face an’ scratchin’ me 
eyes out, ye Kilkenny cat!” 

He fairly threw her against Dick, in his haste 
to he rid of so warlike a burden. 

Dick pushed back the pelt that hooded his face. 
“Do you know me, little Mother?” 

In the shock of amazement and rapture after her 
frenzy, Lisette dropped down at his feet and em¬ 
braced his knees; but he gathered her up and 
hoisted her to the back of another horse. 

“Up with you, quick! No time for tears and 
kisses! There, there! Don’t cry, but listen: this 
fellow you’ve been trying to choke is my old friend 
Mike O’Connor, Mike o’ the Gaspee! He ’ll take 
care of you two, while I see to the plunder and pay 
my wolf boys for their good work.” 

Nancy was staring, wild-eyed, at the bandit with 
the Irish brogue. 

“Mike o’ the Gaspee! How did he—” 

“Can’t stop to talk,” Dick cut in. “Tell me 
quick, does all the plunder belong to you?” 

“No, some of it’s Madame Grimaldi’s—” Nancy 
gave him instructions as well as she could with her 
brain in a whirl. 



418 


WHITE FIRE 


Dick drew his wolf hood over his face again and 
hurried hack to the scene of the assault. He found 
Madame Grimaldi groveling on the floor of the coach. 
She had thrown herself upon her own precious boxes 
and was covering them with her trembling form. 
Now, seeing the horrible wolf-headed monster and 
another with a barbarous bush of beard come 
bursting into the carriage, each by a different door, 
she believed her last moment had come. 

4 ‘Spare me! Spare me! Have mercy on a help¬ 
less woman!” she moaned, half fainting. 

“Don’t be afraid. We ’re not after you . We’ve 
captured a richer prize,” hoarsely growled the wolf¬ 
headed man. “Leave her alone,” to Bushy Beard. 
“We don’t need her for a hostage, and her gowns 
would fit us badly.” 

With that, the two plunderers fell upon Nancy’s 
luggage and hauled it out of the coach. Sailor 
Mike’s two charges, waiting on horseback behind 
the ruined house, saw Dick reappear, laden with 
spoils, as was also his companion, a gaunt and 
swarthy creature, shock-headed and shaggy bearded, 
haggard and wild, clothed in skins and rags, a wolf 
in human shape if ever there was one! Proudly 
Dick introduced him. 

“Here’s my cousin, the king of the Wolf Pack! 
And a right good cousin he makes.” 

So this was the terror of the mountains, the 
Gray Wolf himself! But it struck Nancy that his 
eyes, as he raised them to hers, were rather like 


THE PRIZE 


419 


those of a trusty dog, lonely and homeless and glad 
of human friendship. 

“I don’t think we stole anything from the poor 
lady in the coach,” said Dick. “Now, Nan, what 
won’t go into this pair of saddle-bags you ’ll have to 
leave for the fellows who’ve helped us, to give to 
their sweethearts. The other bags are stuffed with 
fodder for the horses and ourselves.” 

Nancy saw her precious boxes torn open and some 
of her choicest raiment ruthlessly crushed into the 
empty saddle-bags, while the rest was mercilessly 
discarded. There was no time for sorting her valu¬ 
ables, but she rescued the jewel-case that held 
the queen’s gift to her, and, hiding it under her 
cloak, safe from the eyes of Cousin Wolf, she drew 
from it the diamond cross. This she fastened to the 
gold chain about her throat, concealing it beneath 
her kerchief. Never while life lasted would she part 
with that beloved token. 

When the saddle-bags were full, Dick and his 
Irish Wolf folded two rugs from the coach and 
strapped them across the saddle-bows of their 
horses, making cushions on which they seated their 
captives. Then Dick sprang up behind Nancy, and 
Mike of the scratched face behind the now lamb¬ 
like Lisette. The Gray Wolf mounted a third horse 
and another swarthy and bearded brigand threw 
himself on a fourth. The terrible banditti were 
ready to gallop off with their prey. 

“We must scream some more, must n’t we, as you 


420 


WHITE FIRE 


ride away with us?” Nancy asked; and scream she 
did, heartrendingly, and Lisette, too, as they turned 
back into the road. 

At the piteous sound, coachman and footman, pos¬ 
tilion and steedless outriders, strained desperately 
at their bonds. In vain! It was beyond their 
power to save mademoiselle. The wxfif-headed rob¬ 
ber chieftain who held the lovely captive before 
him on the saddle put spurs to his horse and swept 
down the road with her, like a thunderbolt! Gal¬ 
loping furiously, the other horsemen followed, leav¬ 
ing the six remaining Wolves on guard over the 
coach. 

Not till they were far away did the desperate 
riders slacken their headlong pace. Then Nancy 
turned her head to ask, as well as she could for 
lack of breath: 

i ‘Dick, what will happen—to Madame Grimaldi 
—and those poor men?” 

“They ’ll be allowed to go back the way they 
came,” he answered. “The fellows we left guard¬ 
ing them are only farmer lads rigged out to look 
wolfish; and I made them swear on my St. Francis 
medal not to do any pillaging. They ’ll let your 
men loose when it’s safe; but they won’t let them 
cross the barricade we piled in the road, and I war¬ 
rant nobody ’ll care to!” 

“Then—those murderous-looking creatures are n’t 
really brigands?” stammered Nancy. 

“No, the only real ones are our cousin and that 
fellow riding with him. The Wolf Pack is broken 



THE PRIZE 


421 


up—most of the rogues shot down or hanged. And 
the police are hunting the Gray Wolf down; but I 
promised him I’d help him if he ’d help me.” 

“But how did you know how to find me!” asked 
the wondering girl. 

“I ’ll tell you the whole story when we halt for 
the night. We must ride hard now.” 

They rode for hours, sometimes breathlessly fast, 
sometimes toilfully slow, over lonely by-road and 
desolate heath and wild pass, with the Gray Wolf 
for their guide. The other brigand had left them at 
a place where they made a brief halt to rest their 
horses. 

The sun sank. Twilight fell. Stars twinkled, 
then paled before the rising moon. Down from the 
mountain-tops swept the cutting night-wind and 
swirled through the valleys. Once, as they skirted 
a tract of forest, the weird howling of real wolves 
sounded in the distance. A strange ride that; wild, 
terrifying, yet, oh, how glorious! for every hoof- 
beat flung captivity farther behind and meant an¬ 
other step gained in their flight toward the sea 
and freedom. 

Their final halt was before a deserted and half- 
ruined chateau, one of the many lairs of the fugi¬ 
tive Gray Wolf. Leaving the horses sheltered in 
what had once been the stable, he brought out a 
pine torch from the hiding-place where he had left 
it stowed, and, kindling it with flint and steel, lighted 
up their path through the broken doorway into the 
dark and ghostly inner regions of the chateau. Fol- 


422 


WHITE FIRE 


lowing the guiding flame, they found themselves at 
last in the ancient kitchen. The smoky flare of the 
torch revealed an arching cavern, the fireplace. A 
heap of wood lay ready piled on the hearthstones, 
and from a rusty hook there hung a huge ham. 

“We ’re in Cousin Wolf’s best-furnished den, the 
only one fit for ladies,” said Dick. “Make the most 
of this luxury while you have it, Mademoiselle de 
Fontaines. If our plans succeed, this is the last 
night you ’ll ever spend in a chateau.” 

Mike and the Gray Wolf together set to work to 
build up a fire, and presently a hospitable blaze was 
glowing, triumphant over the weird gloom of the 
place, and the refugees were basking in its friendly 
warmth. Next their gaunt and shaggy host took the 
ham down from the hook. It turned out to be a 
haunch of a wild boar which he had killed, drying and 
smoking the meat in the deserted baronial kitchen. 
More provisions came out of the saddle-bag, and in 
the playful firelight they feasted on boar’s meat and 
sour black bread. Strange fare for one used to the 
dainties of a king’s palace, but it revived the weary 
girl, who had been drooping with hunger-faintness, 
and by and by she said to Dick: 

“Now, Sir Wolf, my very gallant knight and res¬ 
cuer, tell me how you did it. ’ ’ 

Dick told her about Lafayette and the Victoire, 
and how, while the marquis and his ship waited, he 
himself had set off for Paris and met the courier 
whose message had sent him galloping back to Bor¬ 
deaux. He brought out Adrienne’s letter, and, read- 


THE PRIZE 


423 


ing it by firelight, Nancy learned that Rene, the 
faithful page, was the first person to be thanked for 
flying to her help. Soon after she had driven away 
in her traveling-coach, fondly believing herself to 
be on the road to Bordeaux, one of her aunt’s maids 
had come to Rene with the startling news that their 
young lady, whom they both idolized, was being car¬ 
ried off to Auvergne! The maid, Denise, had over¬ 
heard the countess talking with her confidential com¬ 
panion. The subject of their conversation had been 
Count Hyacinthe’s clever plan for spiriting Nancy 
away to a convent at Clermont-Ferrand, to save 
her from joining Dick, whom a spy had reported 
having seen in Bordeaux. Hotly indignant, Rene 
had hurried to the Hotel de Noailles and poured his 
ill tidings into the ear of Adrienne, imploring her to 
think of some way to save mademoiselle from un¬ 
happiness. And Nancy’s sister-friend had chosen 
the right course, as it proved, when she despatched 
the courier with a letter to Dick, who now took up 
the story. 

It was good to hear Nancy’s joyous laughter when 
he described his meeting with Mike of the Liberty 
Bell; and it was worth all his toils for her sake to 
witness her jubilation when he told her who was the 
master of that ship and handed her a letter from 
her old friend, Captain Terryberry, now awaiting 
them in a port of Spain. 

“Lafayette had to sail without us,” Dick ex¬ 
plained. “He heard a royal messenger was on his 
track with orders from the king, so I told him to 


424 


WHITE FIBE 


drop that knightly nonsense about not leaving a lady 
in the lurch, and be off!—for the Liberty Bell would 
wait for us and take us home. He had not a mo¬ 
ment to lose, so he sailed for Los Pasajes, with a 
message I gave him for Captain Terryberry; and 
Mike and I headed for Auvergne on the best horses 
I could buy. When we wore them out we traded 
them for fresh ones. We made all the speed we 
could, but I never doubted you ’d heat us in the 
race to Clermont-Ferrand. My plan was to steal 
you out of the convent there, somehow, if Mike and 
1 had to dress up as nuns to do it. 

“When we came in sight of these mountains, it 
put me in mind of the Gray Wolf. I wondered how 
many fat tax-gatherers he ’d plundered since I met 
him, and whether the old fellow had come to hang¬ 
ing at last. I asked about him at an inn and heard 
the story. A hand of police had gone after him and 
destroyed pretty nearly the whole pack. A few 
of his men had escaped through the mountains, but 
most of them they had trapped and killed, and they 
had all but caught Cousin Wolf. He slipped 
through their fingers. What had become of him, 
the innkeeper did nit know. Some said he was 
dead; others swore he was prowling around that old 
volcano the Puy de Dome. But it was thought the 
peasants knew more about him than they cared to 
tell. He was their hero, for he never plundered 
them, like most of these roving outlaws, but waged 
war on their oppressors. 

“Well, vre reached Clermont-Ferrand, and I 


THE PRIZE 


425 


found I’d beaten you, after all. I made friends 
with a tavern-keeper’s daughter, whose sister was 
in service in the convent there. A little innocent 
bribery did the work. I promised Susanne money 
to buy a new dress if she found out from her sister 
what I needed to know. And she did. Clever girl, 
Susanne! She found out that the fine demoiselle 
from the court who was expected at the convent had 
not come yet. She was ill at another convent on the 
road, and it would probably be a week or two before 
she arrived.” 

“I was ill with rage!” Nancy broke in, and she 
told Dick of her prolonged battle with her jailer. 

“I knew you’d not be a very tame captive,” said 
he. “Well, it struck me how much trouble it would 
save to kidnap you on the road. Then I thought 
of the Gray Wolf. I knew if we could find him and 
win him over to help us, we’d be a match for any¬ 
body. So Mike and I went wolf-hunting. We 
scouted about, and wherever we stopped I brought 
out my wolf’s tooth and claw and told how I’d 
earned them. That always drew a crowd. Finally, 
at one of the taverns where I showed it, Jean Paul, 
the boy who took charge of our horses, sneaked in 
and listened, with his eyes as big as moons. I saw 
him nudge some other fellows, and they whispered 
together. I stalked that boy under cover of the 
dark, and overheard him talking about the Gray 
Wolf. He was evidently wondering whether I was 
an officer of the law in disguise, and whether they’d 
better warn the Wolf about me. Mike and I kept 


426 


WHITE FIEE 


watch, and at dawn we saw Jean Paul steal oil to the 
hills with a sack over his shoulder. We followed 
on his trail and tracked him up the mountain side, 
and came upon him and the Gray Wolf together! 

“Cousin Wolf was off his guard and munching the 
food Jean Paul had brought him; and we stole up, 
covering him with our pistols. He sprang up with 
a snarl when he saw us. He thought he was 
trapped at last! But he planted himself with his 
back against a tree, and defied us like—no, not a 
wolf—he was a lion at bay. I went up to him with 
my pistol in one hand and my wolf’s tooth and claw 
in the other. I called him ‘Cousin’ and asked him 
if he remembered me; for I was his Cousin Red 
Wolf come back to visit him. He knew me then, 
but still he mistrusted me. But I told him how 
I’d heard they were hunting him to death, and in 
return for his kind hospitality in the past, and be¬ 
cause we were relations, I’d like to save him, and 
I’d do my best too, if he’d help me out of some 
trouble I was in. Then I told him how we were 
fighting for freedom over in America, and how 
we’d thrown off the yoke of oppression in my 
country. That lighted the right spark in him. And 
I saw he was beginning to trust me. Finally I ex¬ 
plained about you , and I promised him that if he’d 
help me hold up your coach and kidnap you, I’d pay 
him good money and he should have the fastest 
horse I could buy to carry him where he would not 
be known and hunted down. Well, I won him over. 
Nancy, that fellow has the talents of a general. He 


THE PRIZE 


427 


managed the whole expedition. We soon had six 
strapping young farmers and the other Wolf, Grilles 
the Wrestler, ready to march with us. The farmer 
boys brought their horses, and I bought a fast one 
for Cousin Wolf. He had a store of old pelts in his 
den, and the others brought calfskins and goatskins, 
so it was easy enough to make ourselves look brig¬ 
andish. Mike and I saw to the provisions and fire¬ 
arms ; and we set off by night and made our way to 
that deserted village. There we lived like lords. 
Jean Paul trapped rabbits, and we shot small game 
and fished in the streams, while for three days we 
watched for you. We had to send out scouts, and 
Gilles the Wrestler, in a farmer’s smock, rode all 
the way to your last halting-place and came gallop¬ 
ing back with the news that you were coming.” 

“I do remember seeing a peasant on horseback,” 
said Nancy. 

‘ 4 That was Gilles without his wolf-skin. So we 
finished our barricade; and you know the rest.” 

“ Yes, and I know your right arm is cured at last, 
or even you couldn’t have dragged me out of the 
coach, when Mama Lisette and I were clinging to¬ 
gether for dear life,” declared Nancy. 4 ‘Oh, Dick 
—when I heard your voice!” She looked up at him 
and he down at her, both drinking in deep drafts 
of happiness. Suddenly she rose. “I must thank 
Cousin Wolf, and Mike, too.” 

Dick’s shaggy relative was crouching on the 
hearth. Nancy bent over him and, holding out her 
hand, made him give her his great, hard, bony paw. 


428 


WHITE FIRE 


“Good Gray Wolf,” she said. “Monsieur could 
not have saved me without you! I thank you with 
my whole heart!” 

His Wolfship was mightily embarrassed; but in 
the firelight she caught again the faithful dog look 
in his eyes. 

Nancy turned to the sailor, and when she had quite 
overwhelmed him with her gratitude, she asked, 
“Mike, how’s Mollie?” 

He beamed. “Sure, Mollie is safe in Mollie- 
Land now ! 9 9 

“Mollie-Land? Where’s that?” 

“ ’Tis one of the States, me Lady. Mary-Land 
is the name of it; but ? tis Mollie-Land to me, for 
hersilf is there!” 

“Did Mollie come over from Ireland?” 

“She did that, me lady. Shipped wid a captain 
and his wife that was good frinds to me, whin Oi 
steered south, a-huntin’ me fortune, after lavin’ the 
navy. ’T was a praste down in Baltimore married 
us. Sure an ’t was in Mollie-Land Cap ’n Terry- 
berry overhauled me, the toime he chased a British 
cruiser down the coast, and into Chesapake Bay. 
Me lady, do ye moind the cap an’ the coral bades 
ye give me for Mollie? She’s wearin’ them yet!” 

That night Nancy, with Lisette beside her, slept 
in what must have been the pantry of the baronial 
kitchen. When they had laid themselves down, 
wrapped in their cloaks and traveling-rugs, Dick 
stretched himself across the entrance, with a brace 


THE PRIZE 


429 


of loaded pistols ready to hand; and the tired-out 
but happy and thankful girl fell asleep with a sense 
of perfect security, knowing he was there. 

Sailor Mike took the starboard watch, as he called 
it, and lay down by the kitchen doorway. The Gray 
Wolf had betaken himself to a heap of straw in the 
ruined stable, where he could guard the horses. 

When Nancy awoke, the sun was up, and so was 
Lisette, whom she found in the kitchen discussing 
plans with Dick. Presently in came Michael 0 ’Con¬ 
nor, wearing the riding-suit with which Dick had 
equipped him in Bordeaux, yet bringing with him 
a man in sailor garb—no ordinary Jack Tar, 
by the looks of him, but surely a buccaneer! While 
Nancy drew back in startled wonder, Dick burst out 
laughing, clapped Mike’s piratical friend on the 
shoulder, and called him an old sea-lion. 

The swarthy sailor, who oddly enough did not 
roll in his gait, smiled, showing a flash of teeth, and 
exhibited a pair of rabbits that he had bagged at 
dawn. “For Ma’m’selle’s dinner,” he explained. 

“An’ does your ladyship know him now?” Mike 
inquired, as Nancy laughed in her turn and clapped 
her hands. “Faith, ’tis the foin buccaneer he 
makes. Sure, Oi’ve barbered him an’ rigged him 
that handsomely, the polace will nade spectacles to 
foind their owld frind the Gray Wolf.” 

Shorn of his bushy beard and wearing the tarry 
and salty garments which Mike had carried strapped 
to his saddle since he left Bordeaux, the Gray Wolf 


430 


WHITE FIRE 


could now boldly take to the highroad in broad day¬ 
light. Little fear that soldiers or police would recog¬ 
nize the shaggy brigand of the mountains! 

A rude breakfast, hastily snatched, and then—to 
horse! A day of hard riding, and then a night of 
rest in a small village, where the Gray Wolf parted 
from his “cousin” and the captives he had helped to 
rescue, to go his lonely way. Whither ? That was 
his secret. 

“And now you ’ll not be a brigand any more, will 
you?” Nancy said, with a coaxing smile, as they 
bade him farewell and good luck. 

The Gray Wolf hunched his shoulders with a look 
that answered, “What else is an outcast like me 
good for?” 

But Nancy persisted: “No, I’m sure you won’t; 
because—I wish you to do something noble! Now, 
why can’t you come to America and help us fight for 
liberty? You’d be such a help to our army, for 
Dick says you ’re a wonderful shot. And if you 
should be wounded, we w T ould take care of you in 
my father’s home.” 

Dick’s eyes twinkled. “If that offer doesn’t re¬ 
form Cousin Wolf,” he said to her afterward, 
“I give him up as hopeless.” 

One day, as the sun was sinking, a post-chaise, 
escorted by Dick and Sailor Mike, both on horseback, 
drove into Bordeaux and halted before one of its 
white stone houses. A desperately weary, decidedly 
sleepy, but wholly blissful girl was looking out of 



THE PRIZE 431 

the chaise, and Dick, dismounting, said to her and 
to the anxious little woman at her side: 

“Now I ’ll go in and see if mine host has kept his 
word.” 

The house was the modest hostelry where he had 
stayed, and Lafayette, too, before the Victoire 
sailed; and its landlord had promised to find some 
quiet lodging where monsieur’s sister could rest, 
secluded, if she should arrive suddenly in Bordeaux. 

Before she grew too sleepy to give much thought 
to anything, Nancy had been wondering, as they 
neared the city, how far out on the ocean her beau- 
frere Gilbert was by this time. The answer came 
unexpectedly. Dick went indoors to consult the inn¬ 
keeper, and when he reappeared, he had a com¬ 
panion, tall of stature and familiar of face. 
Drowsy Nan started and stared. Was she dream¬ 
ing? It was Lafayette. What had brought him 
back? 


CHAPTER XXIV 

HASTE ! HASTE ! POST-HASTE ! 

M Y glorious fight for liberty threatens to end 
before it has begun,’’ poor Gilbert announced 
that evening, when he paid his friends a call in the 
quiet retreat where Nancy was to remain hidden 
till permits could be obtained and preparations 
completed for escaping over the border into Spain. 
He told his melancholy story to as sympathetic an 
audience as ever listened to a tale of blasted hopes. 

Sailing from Bordeaux in haste, to escape the 
king’s messengers, he had had to make a port in 
Spain to complete arrangements. At Los Pasajes, 
he had found Captain Terryberry; but there he had 
also encountered a courier from his home and two 
officers from the French court. The royal officers 
had brought a lettre-de-cachet, forbidding him to 
sail for America, on pain of punishment for dis¬ 
obedience to the king. Sternly he was ordered to 
return to France and go to Marseilles to await 
further commands. Even more terrible in his eyes 
were the letters from his family. Threats! Re¬ 
proaches! Warnings! Adrienne’s father declared 
that her health would be shattered by all this dis¬ 
tress. Did Gilbert wish to kill herf The only let- 

432 


HASTE! HASTE! POST-HASTE! 433 

ter that did not accuse the runaway, nor show any 
spark of anger was Adrienne’s own; but hers was 
so pathetic, so full of loving distress that he should 
have gone without a good-by, that it wrung his heart. 
It was harder to bear than all her father’s raging. 

“I never meant to be cruel,” the poor marquis 
protested. “I did not know I was hurting her. If 
I’ve made her ill, I ’ll give it all up. I cannot 
leave her to suffer. If she should die—Does it 
really ever kill people to be parted from those they 
love?” 

Nancy knew not which to pity the more, poor 
lonely Adrienne or her distressed and self-reproach¬ 
ful knight, whose love for his girl wife had more 
power to draw him back than all the threats of royal 
wrath. But Lafayette, the picture of despondency 
when he bade his friends good night, was quite a 
different being the next time they saw him. On his 
second visit he burst in upon them, with buoyant 
step, his face radiant. 

“Good news! All’s well! No trip to Marseilles 
for me! When you slip over the border, I go with 
you. Sister Nancy, you still have the opportunity 
to sail on the Victoire instead of the Liberty Bell, 
if you choose to do me the honor.” 

He was beside himself with joy. “My friend, 
Mauroy, has arrived from Paris,” he announced. 

‘ ‘ He sails with us. He tells me to snap my fingers at 
the lettre de cachet . And a courier has arrived, too, 
with messages from all my friends. Before I would 
quite despair, I wrote to them to make sure I was 


434 


WHITE FIRE 


not being deceived; and here are their answers.’’ 

His offended father-in-law the Due d’Ayen 
turned out to be at the bottom of the whole trouble. 
“He complained to his Majesty,” said Gilbert, 
“and got him to send that lettre-de-cachet! At 
heart the king and his ministers don’t care a pinch 
of snuff whether I go or stay. They winked at my 
going away. They stopped me only to please the 
duke. And Adrienne is not ill. She’s really quite 
well. Sorry, of course, to lose me, and worrying for 
fear I ’ll be killed; but she’s bearing up like the 
heroine she is. Taking my part and fighting my 
battles against every one who blames me! If only 
I could know that she forgives me! Do you 
think I’m a brute to leave her! Do you think she 
thinks I’ma brute! ’ ’ 

Nancy cocked her head thoughtfully on one side, 
pretending to take a long while to consider. At last 
she answered: “I think she thinks she’s rather 
proud of you. She knows it’s the White Fire. 
You have to go.” 

“Now I shall dress madame’s hair in the latest 
court style, a la reine. I am madame’s new accom¬ 
plished lady’s-maid, formerly in the service of her 
Majesty.” 

Thus Nancy, next morning, to Lisette, who was 
sitting meekly before a very small and dingy mirror, 
her hair falling loose on her shoulders. The slim, 
deft hands worked swiftly, rolling the long black 


HASTE! HASTE! POST-HASTE! 435 

locks high over a cushion, and puffing and fluffing and 
powdering them well. 

“I never thought the day would come,” declared 
Lisette, “when 1 should play the grand lady, and 
you, my angel, would be waiting upon me and dress¬ 
ing my hair.” 

Nancy laughed in high glee over the change in 
their roles. “Take care not to call me your angel 
in public. Eemember, your maid is named 
‘ Nanette/ ” 

“There, now!” she cried, when the coiffure was 
arranged to her satisfaction. “You ’ll be taken for 
a countess, at least, when you cross the border. 
Let the Hyacinth Plants hire all the spies in the 
kingdom. I defy them to catch us.” 

Were there still spies lurking in Bordeaux, on the 
watch for Dick ? Were the police combing the moun¬ 
tains and forests of Auvergne for the captured 
heiress, the Gray Wolf’s prize, or had the trick been 
found out? One thing was certain. Danger would 
not be over till the fugitives were safely out of 
France; and, to aid their flight across the border, 
Lisette had gone shopping while Nancy stayed hid¬ 
den, and there had been long hours of sewing as fast 
as their fingers could fly. The result deserved the 
highest praise. When to the glories of her pow¬ 
dered pompadour Lisette had added a gown of 
rustling black taffeta and long gloves, hiding hands 
neither white nor taper-fingered, she was truly a 
dame d la mode; and Nancy, in her sober dress, with 


436 


WHITE FIRE 


the curls that might have betrayed her tucked 
away under a coquettishly demure white cap, and 
her neatly folded kerchief concealing her diamond 
cross, was a lady’s-maid whom any duchess 
would have coveted. To be sure, “Nanette” was 
rather too pretty for convenience; but she quickly 
hid her charms under a severely plain traveling- 
hood, while her mistress topped her own coiffure 
with one far more stylish. 

They cloaked themselves and descended to the 
post-chaise waiting below. Dick, as a post-boy, 
booted and spurred, ran down-stairs ahead of them, 
with their luggage on his shoulder, and another 
traveler escorted them to the street. This last 
member of the party was a very fine gentleman in¬ 
deed. He wore a curled and powdered wig, a smart 
cocked hat, a bottle-green coat and buff knee- 
breeches, and, at his wrists, long ruffles, one of 
which he kept pulling down over his huge brown 
right hand, to hide the blue anchor tattooed upon 
it. Gallantly the fine gentleman offered his arm 
to Lisette. 

“Oi’m Sir Michael O’Connor,” he explained to 
Nancy, “and Mother here is Lady O’Connor. ’T is 
the grand tour we ’re makin’, the pair of us, in 
illigant style!” 

Farewell, then, to Bordeaux! Let spies lurk, or 
officers of the law pursue! What was there sus¬ 
picious in the spectacle of a post-boy riding ahead 
of a chaise, in which were a well dressed gentleman 


HASTE! HASTE! POST-HASTE! 437 


from the British Isles, his lady wife, and their wait¬ 
ing maid ? 

Some hours earlier another post-chaise, with two 
travelers in it, had driven away from Bordeaux. 
Lafayette and his friend, the young Vicomte de 
Mauroy, were dutifully taking the road to Mar¬ 
seilles, exactly as the king had commanded. But, 
after leaving the city the proper distance behind 
them, they turned back. The chaise halted by a 
patch of woodland. Gilbert sprang out and dis¬ 
appeared among the trees. When he came back he 
was no longer a young gentleman of rank and for¬ 
tune but a humble post-boy, like the one who had 
been riding ahead of their carriage, and who now 
dismounted, giving up his horse to the marquis in 
disguise. Gilbert vaulted into the empty saddle. 
Haste! haste! post-haste! They were off again, La¬ 
fayette galloping onward as courier, guide, in ad¬ 
vance of the post-chaise, which took the road lead¬ 
ing to Bayonne. And the road to Bayonne was the 
straight road into Spain. 

That desperate young rider had need to prick 
his horse with the spur, to tax the mettlesome 
creature’s strength and swiftness to the limit, and 
Mauroy’s charioteer to drive, like Jehu, furiously. 
Officers of the king were on their track. Vainly 
had Lafayette appealed to his Majesty to take back 
those cruel orders and let him sail. The crown dis¬ 
dained even to reply, and the mischievous marquis 


438 


WHITE FIRE 


of nineteen had written to the prime minister that 
silence must surely mean consent. After that im¬ 
pertinent message, he had need to ride post-haste. 

Speeding thus along the Bayonne road, by and by 
they overtook the other post-chaise, that of Sir 
Michael O’Connor and his lady, whose maid forgot 
to be demure as Gilbert came galloping up along¬ 
side. She waved her hand to him, and he flourished 
his hat. Forward, then, on the road to Spain, two 
post-boys in jubilant spirits, riding neck and neck! 

That was a record-breaking journey for those 
times. They traveled by night as well as by day, 
allowing only the briefest possible halts to delay 
their flight to the Spanish coast. Mauroy’s chaise 
outdistanced Sir Michael’s and reached Bayonne 
first, but the other was not far behind; and when 
Dick dismounted in the stable of the inn, he found 
Lafayette sleeping on a truss of straw as soundly 
as though it were a damask-curtained couch of 
down. 

Almost over the border! The thought made 
Nancy forget fatigue; and Lisette, who had been 
holding her head tight as if to keep it from splitting, 
lifted her aching forehead from her hands, as they 
drove into the town of Saint-Jean-de-Luz. They 
had left Bayonne while the marquis was still sleep¬ 
ing, and now they could afford to rest while wait¬ 
ing for Lafayette and his friend. Nancy insisted 


HASTE! HASTE! POST-HASTE! 439 


that Lisette should lie down and ease her tortured 
head in a quiet room of the inn where they were 
changing horses. Then, in her role of maid, she 
slipped down-stairs to order a cup of coffee for 
“madame.” She found the innkeeper’s sonsy 
black-eyed daughter serving the post-boy Dick with 
a bit of lunch and plenty of chatter. The girl wel¬ 
comed Nancy and chattered on, as fast as her merry 
tongue could fly. 

‘ 4 Your name is Nanette? Mine is Marie Anne. 
You come from Bordeaux? That is a long way 
from here; but not so far as Paris. Have you ever 
been to Paris?” 

“I have lived in Paris/’ Nancy replied, with an 
appropriately lofty air. 

Marie Anne gazed enviously at this privileged 
person, a lady’s maid who had lived in Paris! She 
asked, “Did you ever see the queen?” 

“Yes,” the favorite of fortune answered, “I have 
seen the queen. And, what do you think? I have 
seen the king, too.” 

Marie Anne sighed longingly. “I wish 1 had the 
money to take me to Paris, to see all the sights, and 
the king and the queen. Well, I’d soon be rich 
enough if all the customers I have to wait upon 
were as generous as the fine young gentleman who 
stopped here one day lately. My apron pocket was 
heavy with silver, I can tell you, all because I 
brought him his dinner promptly. But I was sorry 
for him. He looked so sad! Now why should a 


440 


WHITE FIRE 


fine young gentleman, who has nothing to do but 
scatter money about and enjoy himself, be sad?” 

“Which way was he going?” Dick inquired. 

“From Spain to Bordeaux, just the opposite way 
from you.” 

“What did he look like?” asked Nancy. 

“He was very tall and very straight, with red 
hair. He had the kindest smile you ever saw, and 
his eyes—” 

But what Marie Anne thought of his eyes they 
never learned; for at that instant the thud of hoofs 
sounded in the courtyard. Through the window, 
Nancy and Dick could see a courier leap from his 
foaming horse. 

“Bah, another of them!” exclaimed Marie Anne, 
hardly deigning to turn her pretty head. “That 
means another dinner to serve up, while you count 
‘one, two, three,’ and they pound on the table and 
bawl, ‘ Hurry! Hurry! ’ And how they do gobble! 
Though I must say you Ye more polite,” she gra¬ 
ciously told Dick. 

They heard the newly arrived post-boy shout for 
fresh horses. Then he burst into the room. Other 
travelers were gathered there; and Dick and Nancy 
had to pretend that he was a stranger to them. But 
Marie Anne started so, she nearly spilled the coffee 
she was about to pour. “Monsieur!” 

Up went Lafayette’s finger to his lips in a warn¬ 
ing signal. That was enough for the tavern- 
keeper ’s quick-witted daughter. She smothered the 
rest of her exclamation and kept back the words of 


HASTE! HASTE! POST-HASTE! 441 


surprise and welcome that would have betrayed him; 
but her black eyes flashed him a look and her pretty 
head dropped him a slight but meaning nod, both 
of which said: 

4 ‘I don’t understand why monsieur, who was so 
fine a gentleman when he came by before, is a post¬ 
boy to-day; but I see very well that he wishes me to 
hold my tongue—and I will.” 

Marie Anne’s pleasant acquaintance with the maid 
Nanette and the post-boy who knew how to be polite 
at ^able, and her chance to dart furtive but inter¬ 
ested glances at the rich monsieur now transformed 
into a post-boy, too, were quickly nipped in the bud. 
As soon as the fresh horses were ready, the two 
post-chaises clattered out of the courtyard and down 
the highroad at breakneck speed, each with its 
outrider spurring on ahead at a gallop. The inn¬ 
keeper’s daughter watched them out of sight, and 
wondered; and while she was still wondering the 
clash of hoofs again rang out in the courtyard. 

More riders on steaming horses! But this time, 
they were officers. Officers of the king in hot pur¬ 
suit of the young gentleman turned post-boy. They 
questioned the girl. Had she seen him? 

Marie Anne nodded. Yes, yes! He had changed 
horses at the inn but a little while ago. 

Which way had he gone? 

“Down that way.” Faithful, if not truthful, she 
pointed—in the wrong direction, and had the joy 
of seeing those officers from the French court put 



442 


WHITE FIRE 


spurs to their horses and gallop madly down quite 
another road from the one the fugitives had 
taken. 

And thus, history tells us, it was to the daughter 
of a humble innkeeper that young Lafayette owed 
his escape over the border into Spain, and the be¬ 
ginning of that strangely romantic career which 
made him the hero of two nations, “The Man of 
Two •Worlds.” 

April sunshine was flooding the port of Los Pasa- 
jes, warming to richest blue the landlocked bay with 
its narrow doorway to the open sea, when the girl 
whose eyes had not been gladdened with a sight of 
her beloved ocean for nearly four long years stepped 
aboard the Liberty Bell. Which of the three was 
the happiest, she in the ecstasy of feeling herself 
safe at last from pursuit, or Dick in all the flush of 
his triumph—for he had dared greatly and won 
gloriously—or their stanch old friend -Captain 
Terryberry, who had waited for them so patiently, 
these many days, in that Spanish harbor? The 
Yankee skipper had lifted Nancy in his arms from 
the ladder up which she had climbed to the deck of 
the privateer. 

“And so the Dancing Nancy has headed for port 
at last!” he said, as he set her down. “My little 
Sweetheart has come back to her old Cap hi. Well, 
well, let’s have a look at you, dearie. Why, 
where ’s my little girl gone to? Here r s a lady 


HASTE! HASTE! POST-HASTE! 443 


grown. And so pretty, she makes me feel down¬ 
right scared and shy.” 

“Does she? Well, then, does this make you feel 
less scared and shy?” Nancy flung her arms 
around his neck and kissed him as she used to do, in 
the dear child days at home. 

Anchored near the Liberty Bell lay the Victoire, 
from whose deck cheers were rising as the marquis 
came aboard; but she was not to have the honor of 
carrying the damsel-errant across the Atlantic. To 
reward Captain Terryberry for his loyal devotion, 
and reach home the sooner, Nancy was to sail on 
the Yankee privateer straight for the New England 
coast. 

While the two vessels were still in the harbor, 
waiting for a fair wind to put to sea, Sailor Mike, 
who had gone ashore on some errand, returned with 
a new applicant for a berth aboard the Liberty 
Bell. 

“Beg parrdon, sorr,” he apologized to his cap¬ 
tain. “Here ’s a new hand, sorr. This lad is bound 
for Americky; so Oi ’m afther takin’ the liberty o’ 
b ringin’ him aboard. He’s willin’ to wurruk his 
passage over. Spake up, messmate. Arrah, now, 
have ye forgot all the English Oi learned ye? Voo 
savvy what Oi say?” 

Not having understood a word of Mike’s industri¬ 
ous coaching, and his instructor knowing no French, 
the new deck-hand could explain himself only by 
repeating, ‘ ‘ L ’Amerique! L ’Amerique!’ ’ 


444 


WHITE FIRE 


But the Irishman continued to recommend him. 
“He’s lively, sorr, an’ tachable; an’ whin it comes 
to a tight wid the enemy, ye ’ll foind him that handy 
wid’ the cutlass.” 

The stranger looked as if he might well be handy 
with the cutlass. Captain Terryberry would have 
suspected him of being a pirate if only he had shown 
himself more at ease on the deck. As it was, he 
betrayed himself to be a landlubber, and the skipper 
of the Liberty Bell doubted the wisdom of taking on 
such a piece of cargo. Just then the Dancing Nancy 
hove in sight. She sailed straight up to the gaunt 
and swarthy new-comer with the shaggy hair and 
dark stubble of beard, hailing him joyously as “the 
Gray Wolf!” The man’s harsh, hollow-cheeked 
face broke into smiles. 

“Ma’m’selle says to me: ‘Come to America. Be 
an honest man again. Help the Red Wolf tight for 
freedom.’ I say to myself: ‘That is better than 
skulking in the woods, half starved—only to be shot 
down at last. Good—I come, if I can find a ship.’ ” 

Dick had told him that the refugees were bound 
for Los Pasajes; but when they tried to learn how 
this wild man of the mountains had found his way 
through strange territory to the Spanish coast, he 
would only shrug his shoulders, with a chuckle that 
sounded oddly like a growl. The Gray Wolf had 
arrived; with this obvious fact they had to content 
themselves; and now he had a golden-tongued advo¬ 
cate to plead his cause. Plead it she did with all the 
power of eloquence and dimples; and of course she 


HASTE! HASTE! POST-HASTE! 445 

won her case, and thereby gained a trusty scout 
for the continental army. 

When Dick returned from a visit aboard the Vic - 
toire he found his Wolf cousin, with Mike for his 
tutor, learning to work at the spun-yam winch. 
The ex-brigand of dark and dreadful fame learn¬ 
ing to make spun-yarn for the Liberty Bell! And 
already the sailors were calling him “Jack.” 

“He ’s coming to help us fight for freedom,” re¬ 
joiced Nancy. “Poor Gray Wolf, that everybody 
was hunting down, he has a spark of the White Fire, 

too!” 

\ 

At last the Victoire and the Liberty Bell had a 
fair wind from the right quarter to fill their sails. 
It wafted them out through the narrow waterway 
from Los Pasajes into the vast bay of Biscay that 
loses itself in the open ocean. 

Lafayette stood on his after deck, gazing toward 
the receding shore of Spain. The Wdiite Fire was 
burning high. He was winning his souPs desire. 
He was going forth on the great crusade for liberty. 
Not for all the kingdoms of the world would he 
have turned back now. Yet he looked back, and as 
he looked and thought of Adrienne the cloud-like 
coast swam before his eyes. A mist that was not 
of the ocean blotted it out, though his comrades could 
still see it in the distance. 

And what of her from whom he had had to part 
without a word, without a kiss? In the home that 
he had left so far behind him, she was hiding her 


446 


WHITE FIRE 


tears, purring on a mask of cheerfulness, so that 
none should guess the torture of her young heart, 
choosing rather to be thought unfeeling or a mere 
child than that any one, through pity for her, should 
blame her knight. 

Brave, loyal Adrienne, his ‘ 4 dear heart,” as he 
calls her in those devoted and homesick letters that 
touch our hearts as we read them to-day! It was 
her first great trial; and she would have fiercer 
trials yet to bear in the stormy years that no one 
could foresee. She would share persecution and 
prison with her knight. But after the tem¬ 
pest would come the calm; the darkness gone, life 
would be flooded with the sunshine of peaceful 

joy- 

The story of Adrienne, the wife of Lafayette, of 
all she endured for his sake, of her love for him, 
and his for her, is one of the poems of history, 
and it has a golden ending. 

The Man Who Kept Watch was going down to 
his post on the edge of the bluff overlooking the sea. 
He went slowly, leaning on the strong and willing 
arm that was always at his service. The Man Who 
Kept Watch was Colonel Monteith, the very lame 
colonel now; and the strong and willing arm was 
Pompey’s. 

It was June; and ever since the last December, 
when a British fleet had sailed into Narragansett 
Bay, and a redcoat army had landed and taken pos¬ 
session of the “island” of Rhode Island over yon- 


HASTE! HASTE! POST-HASTE! 447 

der across the blue, and those who lived along the 
danger-threatened seaboard had sent their women 
and children, their sheep and cattle and household 
goods, inland to safety to be out of reach of English 
raiders—ever since that dark and anxious season, 
the colonel had spent a vast amount of time in keep¬ 
ing watch. His spy-glass was his constant com¬ 
panion, and with it he would gaze frowningly to¬ 
ward Newport, as if he could see the redcoats quar¬ 
tered there. He would sweep the line where sea 
met sky, counting the number of British war-vessels 
in sight and scanning the horizon for others; and if 
any were to be seen heading toward Narragansett, 
a messenger would be despatched on one of the few 
remaining horses, to carry the warning to patriot 
homes along the shore. Thus Colonel Monteith had 
constituted himself sentry and lookout. What other 
work was left for him, since the stormy night, when, 
as he rode home from the assembly, where he had 
been helping to direct the counsels of Rhode Island 
—colony no longer, but proud little state—his horse 
had slipped and the lame patriot had suffered an 
all but fatal fall? 

The sun hung low in the golden west as he made 
his way to the rustic arm-chair awaiting him on the 
brow of the bluff. Pompey carried the spy-glass and 
a pillow under one arm, while supporting “Mars- 
ter” with the other; and Caesar, the mastiff, padded 
sedately on ahead. The wearisome pilgrimage was 
over at last, and, with a sigh of exhaustion, the 
crippled watchman settled himself to gaze out over 


448 


WHITE FIRE 


the bay and the open sea as long as the light lasted. 
Caesar lay down beside his master’s chair. Pompey, 
dismissed with a kindly word, trudged oil to the 
house. 

“Marster ain’ gittin’ no better,” he sorrowfully 
told Queen Esther in the kitchen. “He gittin’ wuss. 
He pinin’ away. Come anudder winter, an’ he ’ll 
be daid like Marse Dick. Guess he wish he daid 
now. Pore Marster! Ain’ got nobody left but 
ole fool Pompey!” An explosive sigh, and then: 
“I tells you, Queen, dey’s only jes’ one med’cine 
kin save him; an’ dat’s seein’ li’l Missy come back. 
But looks like li’l Missy ain’ nebber cornin’ back 
no more.” 

Now, this was exactly what the colonel was think¬ 
ing, as he swept the horizon with his glass and saw 
in his mind’s eye, not British frigates, but the coast 
of Prance. His lassie was never coming back to 
him; and, cripple that he was, he could not hope 
to cross the sea to her. Would he, then, never see 
her again in this world? The waves breaking on 
the strand and his own heavy heart seemed to beat 
out the answer, “No, no, no!” Nor, till he passed 
into the other world, would he meet his boy again. 
Dick had laid down his life for his country. So the 
colonel, so every one on the Narragansett shore, be¬ 
lieved still. 

What had happened to those letters from France, 
telling the lonely watchman that his laddie was 
living? What of the first one, entrusted to the cap¬ 
tain of the privateer that had rescued Dick, the 


HASTE! HASTE! POST-HASTE! 449 

prisoner, and carried him across the ocean to Nancy? 
The English fleet blocking the harbor had barred 
the Defiance from Rhode Island waters, and the 
message, given into other hands to deliver, had 
somehow failed to find its way to the father’s door. 
And the rest? Ask the stormy seas and the British 
cruisers how many ships, America bound, had gone 
down to watery graves ? 

By and by the colonel laid down his spy-glass; 
and presently his head began to nod; and pretty 
soon his lassie and his laddie did come back to him, 
as they had a habit of doing in his dreams. His 
lassie came first, as she came oftenest. She came 
running to him with the sunset light on her hair; 
and she w T as his “wee bit lassie” still. Caesar 
sprang up with his thundering bark to welcome her 
and his young master, for here was Dick, following 
her—not Dick the soldier, but Dick the lithe-limbed 
school-boy, bounding down the green slope to the 
beach. 

The dreamer woke and opened his eyes. Caesar’s 
cannonade of barking filled his ears and made him 
turn painfully in his chair, to see whom the mastiff 
was warning off the premises. The sun had set, 
but in the hazy light of the fading afterglow he 
could see two persons trespassing boldly on the 
grassy slope. One was a man, whose advance Caesar 
had checked by hurling himself upon him, but not 
to throw the intruder down, only to plant two huge 
paws upon his shoulders and thrust a great black 
muzzle into his face, with no intention whatever of 


450 


WHITE FIRE 


fastening deadly teeth in his throat. And the man 
was hugging the lion-like creature. 

The other person? It was a girl, and she came 
running toward the edge of the bluff, her arms 
stretched wide, and her loosened mantle flying out 
around her like angel-wings. She came running 
straight down to the amazed and bewildered watcher, 
who raised himself and stood gripping the back of 
his chair, as if he had been granted a vision from 
heaven above. 

i ‘ Papa! Dear little Papa! I’ve come back to 
you at last! We ’ll never, never be parted, any 
more!” She gathered the lone sentinel into her 
arms, or he gathered her into his—or, to be more ac¬ 
curate still, each gathered in the other, and then 
the rustic chair gathered them both into its hos¬ 
pitable embrace. 

“My darling! My Dawtie! My ain wee lassie! 
Given back to me at last! Thank God! Thank 
God!” 

He held her close to his heart. Brokenly he asked: 
“How did you get back to me, my darling? Did 
you come straight down from heaven?” 

Well might he wonder, for he had seen no vessel 
come sailing up the bay. None would have dared 
brave those watch-dogs of the harbor, the British 
men-of-war. But this restored blessing was no less 
heaven-sent because it had entered in earthly 
fashion, by the homestead gate. 

“I ran away to sea, a second time. That’s how 
I came,” she answered, with a laugh and a sob to- 


HASTE! HASTE! POST-HASTE! 451 


gether. And she eooed over him and mothered him, 
and smoothed and kissed his forehead, and pressed 
her cheek against his. ‘‘ To think,’’ she cried, “you 
never heard all this time! You never heard about 
Dick!” 

Wild was the rejoicing up at the house, where the 
arrival of “the young Marster,” returned as from 
the dead, with “li’l Missy” beside him, had thrown 
Pompey and the other faithfuls into an ecstasy! 
But the colonel knowing nothing of this, answered: 

“Dick has gone from us, darling—” 

“But he’s come back!” his lassie interrupted. 
“Dick is not dead, dear. He’s alive! He’s safe! 
He was wounded, but he’s well again. You ’ll see 
him soon —very soon. He—he ’s here! He brought 
me home. Look! There he is—up there! Just 
waiting till I break the news to you, so it won’t 
startle you too much, you poor, hurt, all-alone little 
Papa!” 

Once more the colonel raised himself in his chair. 
He was quivering from the glorious shock. He had 
quite forgotten to ask who the stranger was upon 
whom Caesar had hurled himself in rapture instead 
of rage. But now he looked, and saw his soldier 
son come bounding like a rollicking school-boy down 
the slope. 

‘ 1 My laddie! My laddie! ’ ’ 

The colonel forgot that he was a man twice lamed. 
He strode forward too boldly—wavered—but found 
himself caught and steadied and supported by Dick’s 
strong arms. 



CHAPTER XXV 


THE DANCING NANCY COMES TO ANCHOR 

T HE Victoire and the Liberty Bell had parted 
company on the high seas. The Yankee priva¬ 
teer had headed for the New England coast, but, 
giving the watchful British cruisers a wide berth, 
had shunned the Rhode Island shore and come to 
port in a Connecticut harbor. So Nancy and Dick 
and that guardian angel Lisette had ended their 
flight from Auvergne in the Old World to Narra- 
gansett in the New, as they had begun it, with a long, 
long horseback ride. But the Victoire had steered 
a southerly course, and when Lafayette landed it 
was on the Carolina coast and in a manner truly 
romantic: he came ashore by night in an oyster- 
boat, rowed by negro slaves! 

He and Dick had a brotherly reunion before 
the battle of the Brandy vine, from which ‘ 4 the 
marquis,’’ as his troops affectionately called him, 
came forth a hero, for there he shed his blood and 
won the love of his adopted fellow-countrymen; but 
it was many and many a day before Nancy saw her 
beau-frere Gilbert again. In fact, he did not set 
foot on Rhode Island soil till a little more than a 
year had passed from the day the colonel’s laddie 
and lassie came home to him in the sunset light. . 

452 


THE DANCING NANCY TO ANCHOR 453 

A little more than a year; and then—the veteran 
major-general, not yet twenty-one, was to be seen 
on a certain summer afternoon, riding out from the 
American camp on the island of Rhode Island. 
The British camp was there, too. The redcoats, 
with the Hessians to help them, were still holding 
Newport and the southern end of the island; but 
all the rest of it was in patriot hands at last. 

When General Lafayette rode out from the Ameri¬ 
can camp, he headed northward at a brisk trot. So 
did the two horsemen who followed him, one of 
whom was Major Dick Monteith, aide to the 
Quaker warrior, General Greene. After the three 
riders came a big empty farm-cart, driven and 
escorted by Yankee militiamen, who had the 
joyously expectant look of children going picnick¬ 
ing. But the marquis wore no picnic face. He was 
downcast. And a while ago he had been so happy, 
so proud, so triumphant! 

Times had changed since he had had to disobey 
his king to fight for freedom. France was now 
America’s ally and had sent a gallant fleet across the 
sea to her aid. Gilbert’s heart had bounded high 
as he beheld the ships with their royal golden-lily 
flags, anchored in these New England waters, wait¬ 
ing to help the patriot army win the island back. 
This gallant French squadron had made itself mas¬ 
ter of the bay; but, alas, when it sailed forth to give 
battle to the English fleet under Lord Howe, 
my Lord the Weather had decided to give battle 
to them both! A terrific storm had broken; and it 


454 WHITE FIRE 

had battered and scattered the two fleets with im¬ 
partial fury. 

The ships of the golden lilies were a sorrowful 
sight when they came back to the harbor; and the 
French admiral, the Comte d’Estaing, had declared 
that they must sail to Boston for repairs. General 
Lafayette and General Greene had pleaded with him 
till midnight, in vain! To Boston he must go; and 
hot was the rage in the American camp, whose 
commander, General Sullivan, in his wrath at being 
left in the lurch, had wounded the French pride and 
sensitiveness of the young marquis, cutting him to 
the quick. That was why Gilbert was now riding 
so unsociably on ahead of Dick and the third horse¬ 
man, while the Comte d’Estaing and his storm-bat¬ 
tered squadron were putting out to sea. 

Major Dick was, so to speak, raging on one side 
of his mouth and smiling on the other. Though as 
keenly disappointed as Lafayette over the depart¬ 
ure of those ships, he had a private happiness all 
his own, which made him feel proud and exultant 
whenever he thought of it—and a bit wondering 
too, for he was quite sure he did not deserve it; and 
this happiness not even the vanishing of the French 
fleet could spoil. 

As they neared the northern end of the island, the 
marquis spurred his horse to a gallop, as a good 
medicine for curing the blues. When he slowed 
down and looked back, the other two were not even 
in sight. Major Dick had halted to pluck an 
enormous rose-mallow that he spied blooming on 


THE DANCING NANCY TO ANCHOB 455 


the farther edge of a small marsh. Odd behavior 
—unsoldierly and un-Dick-like—to spring from the 
saddle for the sake of picking a flower! What had 
come over him? 

General Lafayette was in no mood to pick flow¬ 
ers ; but he suddenly pricked up his ears and reined 
in his horse, and listened. Then he smiled for the 
first time that day. The thing that came to him, 
merrily lilting, sweetly trilling, was a song. A lit¬ 
tle French song! He had heard the queen sing it 
in the Little Trianon. Now what business did a 
French song have to be singing itself on a 
New England island? He dismounted. Stealthily 
he approached the tall bushes by the roadside and 
peered through them. And there, in a natural 
bower formed by sumacs and alders, he found the 
song-bird hiding. The bird’s plumage was a sober 
gray, like a Quaker dove’s, but she had a crest of 
ruddy gold. General Lafayette broke through the 
bushes, and the bird, much startled or pretending 
to be, fluttered away. But she did not flutter far, 
and she came back trilling a laugh instead of a 
song. 

“Ma belle-soeur Nancy!” 

“Mon beau-frere Gilbert!” 

The Nancy-bird gave him a welcoming hand in¬ 
stead of a wing. He kissed it, and the homesick 
boy major-general felt as if he had been magically 
wafted back to France. 

“That was the sweetest music my ears ever 
heard, ’ ’ he declared, 4 ‘ that song you were warbling. 



456 


WHITE FIRE 


It carried me straight to Adrienne. You come like 
an angel of mercy, just when we need cheering 
most, bringing us a whole boat-load of provisions! 
My faith, but you should have seen the sensation 
the news created in camp! You should have seen 
our grumblers grin! And I? As soon as your 
messengers announced the good tidings, I leaped 
to my saddle and dashed off to meet you and 
Monsieur the Colonel.” 

44 And yet you Ve been in America a whole year, 
without coming to visit us!” Nancy reproached 
him playfully. 4 4 Yes, a whole year! And all the 
while we kept hearing of the exploits of General 
Lafayette, the bosom friend of General Washing¬ 
ton ! So, at last, as you see, my father and I could 
wait no longer, and we ’ve come to see you, instead.” 

But while they talked her ears were alert for the 
sound of other hoof-beats. 44 And Dick? Does he 
know?” she asked, and Lafayette saw her glance 
anxiously down the road. 

44 Dick is following hard upon my track,” he as¬ 
sured her. 4 4 Did you really think I should dare 
come into your presence without bringing him? 
Don’t I know how unwelcome I should be if I had 
the audacity to come alone?” 

Nancy’s cheeks were a very pretty pink. 44 Now, 
General, you ’re angling for a compliment,” she re¬ 
torted. 4 4 You wish to hear me say you ’re always 
welcome, which you are. I hope a cart is follow¬ 
ing you, as well as Dick, to carry our boat-load of 
good things.” 


THE DANCING NANCY TO ANCHOR 457 


“The biggest cart in the whole camp is coming 
for them. And to-night we ’ll hold a liberty ban¬ 
quet,’ ’ he told her merrily, his gloom flown to the 
winds. ’ 9 

“My father and I planned our surprise while that 
fearful storm was still raging and howling,” Nancy 
explained. “We were sure there was not a tent 
left standing in your whole camp, and all your food 
must be swimming, so we made up our minds to 
bring you a cargo of good cheer. But it took a 
long while to get everything arranged; and, besides, 
we had to wait till your French ships came back to 
protect us, after being battered about in the storm, 
poor beautiful golden-lily ships! Oh, how it thrilled 
me, the day we drove all the way down to Point 
Judith and saw them for the first time, with the 
lilies of France flying in the breeze! But it broke 
my heart into a thousand pieces to have that spite¬ 
ful storm spoil their chance of a victory. I was 
so sure they would come sailing back in triumph, 
and the Comte d’Estaing would be towing Lord 
Howe behind him.” 

Lafayette frowned. He could not bear to tell 
her that the count and his fleet were deserting 
Rhode Island waters. “The next time,” he com¬ 
forted her, ‘ 4 our admiral will surely be towing Lord 
Howe—and give him to you for a hostage. Have 
patience, awhile, patience and faith in my country¬ 
men, who are yours , too, and you shall yet be proud 
of your French allies.” 

And, though disappointed now, proud indeed 


458 


WHITE FIRE 


Nancy was to be when, in a summer yet to come, 
another fleet brought the flower of French chi¬ 
valry to the patriots’ aid, and the gallant 
army of Rochambeau landed on the island, and 
the streets and houses and belfries of Newport 
were illuminated in its honor; prouder still, when 
that army marched southward and made the 
triumph of Yorktown possible. There would have 
been no dramatic surrender of Lord Cornwallis 
but for the coming of those French allies. And 
what would then be her pride in her beau-frere 
Gilbert—“the boy,” who Cornwallis declared so 
confidently could not escape him, but who out- 
manoeuvered him so prettily that in the end it was 
my lord who could not escape! “The boy,” who, 
while awaiting the coming of Washington and 
Rochambeau, took command of the allied armies 
before Yorktown on his twenty-fourth birth¬ 
day! 

“But to make up for not towing Lord Howe be¬ 
hind us to-day,” went on the future hero of the 
Virginia campaign, “we have a present for made¬ 
moiselle which we hope will console her a little!” 

“A present! What can it be?” Nancy wondered. 
“I know what would console me. One of those 
beautiful flags from your ships.” 

“Unfortunately we were unable to pluck any 
golden lilies for you,” he had to confess. “The 
admiral guarded them too jealously. This present 
is of English make; but please don’t cast it aside, 



THE DANCING NANCY TO ANCHOR 459 


for that. Dick and I took great pains to get it 
for you.” 

‘ 4 Here he comes now!” cried Nancy, for at that 
moment the two other horsemen came into view. 

One of them, catching sight of the girl by the 
roadside, spurred forward in glad haste to meet 
her. He bore as a trophy in his hat that prize, the 
great rose-mallow, its stem thrust into the green 
cockade that proclaimed him a staff-officer. Gaily 
he flourished that decorated hat, as he rode up. 
Then he leaped from his saddle almost before his 
horse had stopped. He gathered up both of Nan¬ 
cy’s eager outstretched hands and kissed them 
both; and one of them he held fast and would not 
let it go. 

“Dick! Oh, Dick! It seems a hundred years 
since I’ve seen you!” 

“It seems two hundred to me! But this makes 
up for all the bad luck, to find you here, little lady 
o’ mine.” 

“You poor storm-battered boy! Have you been 
drowned and starved and—everything that’s ter¬ 
rible ? ’ ’ 

“We Ve been having squally weather in more 
ways than one. But all’s well now that you’ve 
taken possession of the island. You glorious little 
patriot, bringing us a regular Thanksgiving Day 
cargo to hearten us up! Three cheers and a flower 
for you, Nancy-Nan!” 

He presented her with his flowery offering. 



460 


WHITE FIRE 


“Whai a beauty!” she exclaimed. “I never saw 
such a big one. Is this the present Gilbert was 
talking about? But, no, he said it was something 
English.” 

“It is English,’ ’ Dick asserted. “Where’s 
Father?” 

“Down over there by the water’s edge. We were 
tired of waiting aboard the Mermaid; so the men 
carried him ashore, and then I told him it was time 
for his nap. I tucked him up and made him com¬ 
fortable, and then I went a-stroiling. But, Dick, 
who is that with you?” 

Nancy’s questioning eyes turned toward the other 
horseman, who had dismounted, too, but at a dis¬ 
tance. 

“Oh, some one you may have heard of.” Dick 
led her to where the young man stood, holding 
himself like a ramrod and wearing a decidedly em¬ 
barrassed look. 

He was a broad-chested, upstanding fellow; and, 
now that she had a chance to look at him, she be¬ 
held—the uniform of King George’s navy! 

“Nan,” said Dick, “here’s an old friend of yours, 
waiting to be presented. Do you recognize him?” 

Nancy looked up into the honest English face 
and saw it flush to the roots of the curly light-brown 
hair. She looked into the blue eyes, frank and fear¬ 
less; and she remembered. 

“It ’s not—Phil Templeton!” 

The honest face, sunburned yet fair, brightened. 
Her comrade of old, who had once helped her to 


THE DANCING NANCY TO ANCHOR 461 


run away to sea, had been very doubtful of the wel¬ 
come she would give him. 

“You—you’ve not quite forgotten me, then, 
Miss Monteith?” 

“No, Nancy; just Nancy,” she said. “Didn’t 
I call you Phil?” And she held out the hand that 
Dick had freed at last. “But I don’t understand. 
You were fighting on the British side. Oh!”—as 
a joyous thought struck her—“are you on our side 
now? How glorious!” 

Phil Templeton flushed hotter as he answered 
with a rueful laugh: “Why—er—yes, I’m on your 
side in spite of myself; on your side of the lines 
at least. I—the fact is—I’m a prisoner on pa¬ 
role.” 

“He’s paroled to you, Nan,” said Dick with a 
laugh in his eye. “We’ve merely changed places. 
I was Ms prisoner two years ago; and you know 
what he saved me from.” 

“Yes, indeed I know; and I ’ll never forget it.” 
At Nancy’s grateful look poor Phil appeared more 
embarrassed than before. 

“We ’re quits now,” he said. “Dick’s just 
saved me from prison quarters aboard the Langue¬ 
doc” 

“That was the general’s doing,” Dick corrected, 
with a glance at Lafayette. 

“Tell me all about it,” Nancy implored. 
“Were you taken prisoner by the French?” 

“Yes,” Ensign Templeton had to own, “they 
captured the frigate I was on. They put us prison- 


462 


WHITE FIRE 


ers aboard the admiral’s ship and brought us up 
here, almost in sight of my old home. Then, yes¬ 
terday, while we were out on the forward deck for 
a breath of air, we saw two of your generals come 
aboard. The admiral showed us off to them, and 
I found myself face to face with Dick.” 

“Why, Dick!” cried Nancy. “Did you go to 
visit the Comte d’Estaing, too?” 

“As General Green’s aide, I had that honor,” he 
explained. 

“I know what happened,” she declared. “You 
asked the Comte d’Estaing to let Phil out on parole 
and give him to me to take care of. Didn’t you, 
now?” 

“I asked General Lafayette to do the asking for 
me,” said Dick. 

Nancy clapped her hands. “Phil’s the pres¬ 
ent!” she cried. “General, I promise you not to 
fling him aside, if he is of English make. In fact, 
I really prefer him to Lord Howe!” 

She led the three dismounted horsemen down to 
the shady nook by the water’s edge, where Colonel 
Monteith was resting while his sloop lay at anchor. 
He gave the young French hero and the young Eng¬ 
lish ensign an equally cordial welcome, with no hard 
feelings toward the prisoner for having served his 
king and the mother-country faithfully. 

Presently Phil burst out: ‘ ‘ ’Pon my word, it’s 
good of you, don’t you know, to treat me like this! I 
know how you must feel . But you talk and act as 


THE DANCING NANCY TO ANCHOR 463 


if there were no such thing as a war dividing ns. 
And I was wondering, on the way here, whether 
Miss Nancy would deign to shake hands with an 
enemy. I didn’t much believe she would.” 

“If you’d been King George on parole, I cer¬ 
tainly would not have shaken hands,” Miss Nancy 
declared with spirit. “But you see”—she tipped 
her head first on one side, then on the other, like 
a wise and thoughtful bird—“when Somebody has 
saved Somebody that Somebody cares a good deal 
for ,—then Somebody doesn’t consider Somebody 
as her enemy any more.” 

Later, while the young Frenchman and the young 
Briton were chatting with the lame patriot down by 
the strand, and the men were loading the good- 
cheer cargo aboard the farm-cart that had come 
lumbering up at last, and while the three saddle- 
horses were browsing peacefully, unmindful of 
battles to be, Dick and Nancy strolled away to¬ 
gether, for they had a good many things to say 
to each other that were no affair of Gilbert’s 
or of Phil’s, or even of the colonel’s, dearly as he 
loved them—and so are no affair of ours. Only at 
the end—we might have dared to steal up and listen 
to them at the end—when Dick said: 

“Nan, it’s patriotic and splendid of you and 
Father to come all this way to bring us good cheer; 
but if we’d known you were coming, we’d have 
had to stop you. And now you ’re here, you can't 
go back to Narragansett. It’s too dangerous.” 


464 


WHITE FIRE 


Her astonished eyes opened wide. “Too dan¬ 
gerous ! But the French ships are here in the bay, 
to protect us.” 

“Not any longer. They were in the bay when 
you set sail, but they ’re not here now. They were 
badly shattered by that storm, you know; and they 
are going away for repairs. They must be well 
out to sea by this time. I can’t let you sail home 
now, or a British gunboat might capture this pre¬ 
cious prize that belongs to me.” 

Nancy’s grief at the desertion of the French 
fleet was offset by glee at the thought of not going 
home. “Then we ’ll camp out on this island, Papa 
and I,” she told him. “We ’ll stay till the French 
ships come back.” 

He shook his head. “You can’t stay on the is¬ 
land, dear. That would be worse than risking the 
British cruisers. There’s a battle coming. We 
may be fighting any day now. I must send you 
where you ’ll be safe. There’s Matthew Fair¬ 
child’s farm in Bristol. You ’ll be out of danger 
at Quaker Matt’s, and enjoy visiting his bride.” 

“No, I sha’n’t!” she contradicted. “I don’t 
care a pin about visiting Quaker brides. I don’t 
want to be where I ’ll be safe . I want to be in 
danger—with you. You seem to forget that I own 
a rather valuable prize myself, and I want to be as 
near you as I can. Dick, boy, if you should be 
wounded again—Oh, don’t talk about sending me 
to Quaker Matt’s. If there’s to be a battle, that’s 


THE DANCING NANCY TO ANCHOR 465 

the very reason why I must stay here — here — here, 
to be near you!” 

“Nan, little Nan! You ’re the bravest, gallant- 
est, truest—Do you know why I know we ’ll win 
the war? It’s because there are girls like you to 
fight for. But I’d deserve to be shot if I let you 
stay in danger. No, sweetheart, you must go.” 

She raised herself a-tiptoe, and put her hands on 
his shoulders, in the old coaxing way, but with a 
new pleading in her eyes. 

“Dick, naughty boy, are we going to quarrel 
again, as we did in France? Are we always going 
to quarrel?” 

And never mind what Dick’s answer was; that, 
again, is no affair of ours. 

There is standing to-day on Hope Street in 
Bristol an old frame house, still a comfortable 
dwelling-place, though so ancient that it was ven¬ 
erable in the days of the Revolution, for it could 
remember the year 1698. Now, when this house 
had come to the dignified age of eighty, one Sep¬ 
tember day the lady of the mansion was preparing 
to entertain a distinguished guest, General La¬ 
fayette. He was coming to make her home on 
Bristol Neck his headquarters, and she was ready 
to welcome him with the finest dinner that those 
hard war-times could afford. 

The battle of Rhode Island was over. The pa¬ 
triot soldiers had stood firm against King George’s 


466 


WHITE FIRE 


regulars, and proved more than a match for them, 
driving them back in defeat. And they had fought 
unaided, though on the eve of the battle Lafayette 
had outdone the exploit of Paul Revere and ridden 
all the way to Boston, seventy miles in seven hours, 
to implore the French admiral to return before it 
was too late. Then back he had galloped as fast 
as he had gone, arriving too late himself to be in the 
place he loved best, the thick of the tight, but in time 
to play a gallant part in the sequel. For after 
their victory the patriots had had to decamp from 
the island under cover of the night, else Lord Howe, 
approaching with reinforcements, might have 
caught them like mice in a trap; and the marquis 
had brought the rear-guard off with masterly skill 
under a furious fire from the British guns. Surely, 
then, he deserved the fine dinner that this patriotic 
Bristol dame was preparing in his honor. 

The good lady glanced anxiously at the clock, 
you may be sure. How soon would her guest be 
arriving? Not for an hour. She breathed a sigh 
of relief. There was so much to be done when a 
general, who was also a marquis, was coming! It 
was worse than a spring house-cleaning, but more 
romantic. But who was this, riding up to her 
home? A soldier; a messenger, perhaps, from 
General Lafayette. He tied his horse to a tree hard 
by, and presented himself at the busy housewife’s 
door. He was a tall, sunburned fellow, but no 
Yankee. He spoke with an accent. He was 


THE DANCING NANCY TO ANCHOR 467 

French. One of the attendants of the marquis, she 
decided, arrived in advance. 

The young Frenchman was hungry. Politely he 
asked, might he have something to eat? The kindly 
hostess placed him at the table already prepared for 
the noble general, beloved of Washington. 

“But, really,’’ she thought, “this is most incon¬ 
venient, to have this young fellow come to be fed 
just when we are expecting the marquis. And I 
must say I’m surprised at his behavior. Very bad 
manners indeed, I call it, to ask for his dinner be¬ 
fore his general has come and dined. He ought to 
control his appetite and wait his turn patiently.” 

The hungry soldier sat long and ate leisurely at 
that table in gala trim. At last the poor lady 
could stand it no longer. The spare hour was up, 
or nearly. She expostulated. 

“Excuse me, but I must remind you that we are 
expecting General Lafayette to arrive at any mo¬ 
ment . I must ask you to make haste and finish at 
once.” 

Politely he rises, the tall young soldier with the 
keen eyes and the ruddy hair, and bows with true 
French gallantry. 

“A thousand pardons, madame. I should have 
explained. 1 am General Lafayette, at your serv¬ 
ice.” 

When his hostess had recovered from her con¬ 
fusion, I warrant you, they laughed together. And 
their laughter has echoed down the years. 


468 


WHITE FIRE 


So the marquis came to his headquarters on 
Bristol Neck, and of course that venerable house 
was the center of interest all the while he was under 
its roof, particularly so on a certain day memorable 
in the history of the Monteiths, the Quaker Fair¬ 
childs, Captain Terryberry, and others, if not in the 
history of our country as a whole. 

General Greene, the Rhode Island hero, who began 
by hammering away at his father’s forge and ended 
by winning a reputation second only to Washing¬ 
ton’s—General Nathaniel Greene, Dick’s loved com¬ 
mander, was there that never-to-be-forgotten morn¬ 
ing with his aides-de-camp; and no doubt that was 
the reason why all the Bristol boys who could play 
truant collected outside headquarters. But it takes 
more than the combined presence of General Greene 
and General Lafayette to explain why all the girls 
who could escape from sewing and spinning flocked 
thither as well. What a fluttering! What a twit¬ 
tering! They gathered like birds in winter to a 
feast of crumbs. And the crumbs of that day’s 
festivity were all that fell to the share of most of 
those inquisitive little Pattys and Peggys and 
Pollys; for there were guards at the gate and at the 
door; and the house, above which the new Stars and 
Stripes was flying, though big, was not big enough 
to hold all the boys and girls of Bristol, in addition 
to the invited guests. 

It was a Patty or a Peggy or a Polly, who, 
patiently waiting in the road, raised her eyes as 
high as the mansion’s second-story windows, and 


THE DANCING NANCY TO ANCHOR 469 

saw, framed in one of them, a face young and fair, 
peeping out between the curtains. Pointing up¬ 
ward ecstatically, the little girl cried out: 

“Look! Look! That’s she /” 

The face broke into smiles but instantly vanished 
from the window. “She” was Nancy, a prisoner 
up-stairs for the present; but not a solitary prisoner, 
for there in attendance were the Quaker sisters Ruth 
and Deborah, who had come over with her 
from their brother Matthew ’s farm, and a little 
woman who, like Huldy in that poem of a later day, 
was “smily round the lips and teary round the 
lashes.” Journeying by land to avoid the British 
gunboats, and traveling under Matthew’s care, 
Lisette had come all the way to Bristol to join 
her beloved nursling, bringing with her a huge bun¬ 
dle, the contents of which had long lain buried amid 
rose-leaves and lavender in a certain old oak 
treasure-chest. She now remonstrated: 

“My child! My angel! You must keep away 
from the window. What a misfortune to have every 
one see you before the time!” 

“It’s not etiquette, is it?” laughed the wilful 
girl. 

She consented to let the Quaker maidens play 
“Sister Anne” at the window, and they presently 
announced the arrival of a wagon-load of Fair¬ 
childs, after whom came Pompey, still hobbling 
from a wound caused by a Hessian bayonet. 
Pompey was a free man now, and a private in 
Captain Jonathan Fairchild’s company in the first 


470 


WHITE FIRE 


negro regiment ever raised on American soil. 
Rhode Island slaves made up its rank and file, or 
freed-men, rather, for enlistment had earned them 
their liberty. And well they deserved such a re¬ 
ward, these dusky heroes, for in the island battle 
they had hurled the charging Hessians back three 
times and helped to save the day. 

“De Heshuns ain’ nebber gwine to fight free 
black folks agin,” Pompey had gleefully assured 
4 ‘Missy.’’ “We done spile dey appetites.” 

The Liberty Bell had been resting in port while 
her skipper and his crew served with the army on 
the island. Nancy’s hour of imprisonment was al¬ 
most over, when, at a call from Debby and Ruth, she 
peeped again. 

“Joy, oh, joy! Here’s Captain Terryberry at 
last.” She beckoned to Lisette, Sailor Mike’s 
traveling-companion in the flight into Spain. 
“ ‘Lady O’Connor’, come quick and look! Here’s 
your Sir Michael, too! ’ ’ 

Down-stairs the long parlor was in festal trim, 
as if to celebrate a victory. Instead of leaping 
flames, a giant sheaf of goldenrod glowed inside the 
huge brick fireplace at the end of the room, and the 
whole length of the lordly mantelpiece was a bed of 
autumnal flowers. Purple and gold! Gold and 
purple! The fireplace had become a bower. Sep¬ 
tember ’s riches from garden and field were gathered 
there in masses and garlands, as an offering—for 
what ? for whom ? Above the mantel hung two flags: 


THE DANCING NANCY TO ANCHOR 471 

one bore a circle of stars and thirteen stripes; the 
other, the lilies of royal France. 

The room was rapidly filling with guests, whom 
the lady of the mansion was graciously welcoming. 
Colonel Monteith, from his arm-chair near the 
chimney-side, greeted Captain Terryberry, who 
wrung his old friends hand right heartily. 

“Well, well, colonel! So the Dancing Nancy’s 
coming to anchor, without waiting for the war to 
be over. Took my advice, I see. Last time I saw 
her, I told her, ‘ Nancy, girl, fair weather ’s the sea¬ 
son for cruising, but in squally weather, like we ’re 
having these years, head for the harbor and anchor 
there.’ So she’s doing it, eh? And she’s hit on 
the right moment, while I ? m still in port. I 
could n’t have allowed this to happen, you know, at 
a time when I was off hunting British cruisers. See¬ 
ing I had a hand in bringing the whole thing about, 
I ’ve got to be on deck, to give her and her skipper 
both my blessing. Well, Colonel, I guess you ’re 
pretty nigh as happy as 1 am, to-day.” 

The colonel’s smile testified to that. “Now at 
last,” he said, “I can depart in peace, however soon 
the call comes. I shall be leaving my lassie in a safe 
harbor, protected from the storm. And why should 
they wait any longer, those two, having known each 
other all their lives and found out they love each 
other?” 

“And found out they love each other!” chuckled 
Captain Terryberry. “Haw-haw! 1 found out be- 


472 


WHITE FIEE 


fore they did, at least before my little Sweetheart 
did. Pshaw! I must stop a-calling her that. 
Dick ’ll be jealous. Why, Colonel, aboard the 
Liberty Bell, before we were half-way across the 
Atlantic I could tell which way the wind was a- 
blowing. ’ 1 

A hush of expectation swept through the room, 
where patriotic dames and daughters, young staff- 
officers, and gentle Friends were mingled. A regi¬ 
mental chaplain took his stand before the fireplace. 
Then two martial figures entered and, advancing 
between the ranks of guests, posted themselves on 
his left. One was General Greene, noble-featured 
and kindly-faced, big of frame as he was big of 
nature; the other was his aide-de-camp, Major 
Monteith, in a brand-new homespun, home-dyed, 
home-made uniform, blue and buffi—the work of 
genius and hard labor—such a suit as few of the 
patriot warriors, gallant but poorly clad, could boast. 
Major Dick, superbly erect, wearing his 61 Chief 
Canonicus” look, heroically endured inspection 
by every eye in the room. His left hand rested, 
perhaps for comfort in that embarrassing ordeal, 
on the golden hilt of his sword, the sword that bade 
him keep the White Fire burning. 

Then all in a nervous flutter Lisette slipped in, 
and Philip Templeton, standing behind the colonel’s 
chair, made room for her, wondering what on earth 
the woman could find to cry about on such an oc¬ 
casion. Finally two modest heroes, who had been 
waiting humbly in the hall till ordered to their 


THE DANCING NANCY TO ANCHOR 473 

places—^Michael O’Connor and Pompey—stole in 
bashfully in Lisette’s wake and planted themselves 
like wall-flowers at the back of the room. 

A ripple of suppressed excitement, a wave of mo¬ 
tion like wind blowing through a corn-field! Every¬ 
body turning and looking back; soft murmurs fol¬ 
lowed by a deeper hush! Colonel Monteith raised 
himself from his arm-chair, and stood gazing with 
the rest. He was too lame to take his rightful part 
in what was coming, but he felt no regret, no jeal¬ 
ousy, only delight in the vision that he saw! It had 
swept down the staircase to the entrance hall. The 
doorway had framed it for a moment; and now it 
was advancing with slow, stately motion, as if the 
colonial parlor were the throne-room of a palace. 
What had become of the little New England lass in 
gray homespun who had arrived at headquarters 
escorted by Quaker maidens? Where was Nancy 
Monteith? Behold, in her place, Anastasie de Fon¬ 
taines, on the arm of the Marquis de Lafayette! 

She was a picture straight from Versailles. She 
was all in lustrous creamy white brocade, rich with 
gold embroidery and misty cascades of finest lace. 
A daughter in her mother’s wedding-gown! Other 
daughters, and their mothers, too, drew deep 
breaths of wonder as their eyes rested upon her. 
Like a gentle breeze, little sighs of rapture from 
girlish lips were wafted to her ears, as she passed, 
led by the tall young general, in dress-uniform now, 
with his air of the courtly Old World whence he 
came—the marquis, the admiration of every pa- 


474 


WHITE FIRE 


triot maiden in the room! No gay procession fol¬ 
lowed them; but like two shy white violets attend¬ 
ing the queen of the garden—a white rose—came the 
sisters, Ruth and Deborah; and they, too, had a 
loveliness all their own, in their simple gowns spot¬ 
less as snow, with their demure white pleated 
bonnets shading their grave, sweet faces, hiding 
all hut a glimpse of soft brown hair, and giving 
them a true Madonna look. 

Up to the purple and golden bower the marquis led 
the bride, to give her to his brother knight of liberty. 
And there they stood together, the soldier in his 
homespun uniform and the girl in her glistening 
brocade—two generals and two Quaker maids at¬ 
tendant, while the chaplain spoke to them in solemn 
words. Firm and clear their voices, as they plighted 
their lifelong troth; and the man who had been a 
father to them all these years stood close by, his 
face transfigured with joy; and the woman who had 
tended them as a mother saw two weddings blend¬ 
ing into one—for through her tears came a vision of 
a bridal in a French chapel, with lights and incense, 
and a priest at the altar, and a girl, lovely as this 
girl and wearing the selfsame robe; and she could 
almost hear the strains of sacred music coming back 
to her from the long ago. 

So Armand wedded Anastasie. So Dick won 
Nancy for his wife; and he kissed her, as they stood 
there, hand clasped in hand. And then the bride 
went straight to her father’s arms for his blessing; 





THE DANCING NANCY TO ANCHOR 475 


after which the marquis kissed her on both glowing 
cheeks in the good French way. 

“I shall have glad news to tell the queen /’ he 
said, “when I go back to France .’’ 

“Yes,” she answered, “and you must tell her 
that in this far-away land there are two joyful 
hearts, full of gratitude to the Fairy, who waved 
her wand and brought a happy ending to the story 
of the Knight-Errant and the Little Maid.” 


THE END 














































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